


Time Out in Washington

by Fides



Series: Spyverse [3]
Category: State Within, Torchwood, X-Files - Fandom
Genre: Action, Angst, Crossover, Drama, Fantasy Sexual Violence, M/M, UST, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-27
Updated: 2009-10-27
Packaged: 2017-10-02 13:17:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 48,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fides/pseuds/Fides
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finding out Jack's secret in the worst possible way (Hobson's Choice), Alex takes a break from Torchwood Three while he comes to terms with events and his anger towards Jack. To give him the time he needs, Jack arranges a secondment for Alex at the British Embassy in Washington working with the British secret service to counter threats to the Ambassador's family. But with Mulder around things don't go to plan and Alex discovers that aliens aren't that easy to leave behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dulles International Airport, Washington

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to moth2fic for the beta. Any remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> Vague spoilers for first six seasons of X-Files, season one of Torchwood and for The State Within.
> 
> [Edit 19/11/2010 - I've split the story from one file to multiple chapters. Otherwise it remains the same]

There was something about being back on American soil that made a tingle race up Alex's spine. He got the same feeling when he returned to Russia, but he wasn't entirely convinced that that wasn't radiation. It was both typical and concerning that he seemed to have come to associate home with 'place where people want to kill me'. Maybe that was the problem in Cardiff, no one was after him specifically and he wasn't even planning to betray anyone so that they would want to kill him in the future. It was downright disconcerting. If it hadn't been for the aliens trying to destroy the world, or at least his part of it, at regular intervals then he would have been getting positively edgy.

Airports weren't Alex's favourite places in the world. It wasn't just the amount of shit that had gone down in them, although that was a factor, but anywhere that Alex was required to provide verifiable identification to twitchy, jumped-up security guards was low down on his list of favourite destinations. Being met by a professional suit before he was even through immigration traditionally didn't bode well either. The alert way that the man quickly evaluated every person in the room made Alex think secret service; the big question was which one? Alex was categorising escape routes and potential improvised weapons as he walked towards the blond agent. At least the man was too well-dressed to be Consortium. There was, of course, the small chance that this deviation from normal routine had nothing to do with him, but there was also a small chance that Mulder would break all the conditioning and memory wipes that had been forced on him - Alex wasn't holding out hope for either.

The man inclined his head in greeting as Alex approached.

"You must be Alexander Krycek. Nicholas Brocklehurst, Councillor for External Affairs at the Embassy. I'll be your liaison here."

So this was the man that Ianto and Jack had spoken of. Alex put out his hand "Alex," he offered. "Torchwood Three, Cardiff".

Nicholas' handshake was firm and dry, his expression as friendly and welcoming as a spider enticing flies into its parlour. Alex allowed himself to relax slightly and study Nicholas as a colleague rather than an immediate threat. Not that Alex had any intention of forgetting exactly what Nicholas really was. Nicholas wasn't that much older then Alex and one didn't work one's way up to be the embedded MI6 operative in one of Britain's most important embassies by being wholly on the side of the angels. Working as an agent among apparent allies was not a sabbatical but called for a particularly deft touch and capacity for deception with a smile. He was good looking enough, Alex supposed. Blond hair, utilitarian but fashionable. A touch shorter than Alex himself but not enough to be noticeable, and slightly more slender in build, jacket cut to flatter and to hide the gun that Nicholas carried easily. Pale blue eyes took in the nuances of Alex's bearing and dress and Alex wondered with professional curiosity what Nicholas made of him in turn and what Nicholas had been told.

In their own ways both Ianto and Jack had been annoyingly closed-mouthed when it came to Nicholas; Ianto discreet and saying little and Jack indiscreet and saying less. While Alex didn't necessarily disagree with Jack's mostly lascivious assessment of Nicholas, he was beginning to suspect that Jack had a penchant for professional men who wore their suits like a uniform. Age, experience and, Alex was inclined to think, situational morality aside, Ianto and Nicholas were two little peas in a carefully turned-out pod.

"Do you have much luggage? We have to pick up a bag coming through diplomatic channels but that should give the baggage handlers time to work." Nicholas gestured in the direction they needed to go. The security guards eyed them suspiciously and glared unhappily at Nicholas' credentials as he led them into the bowels of Dulles.

"Did Jack tell you that there might be some potential complications with my visit?" Alex asked as he fell into step besides Nicholas.

"Your Agent Mulder?" Nicholas' gaze flicked to him for a moment before returning to their route. "Yes, he filled me in on the pertinent details. You're here on a diplomatic visa so you have immunity, but try not to need it. You are staying at the residence for now, partly to minimise the chances of accidental exposure and partly because we expect you will be mostly based there."

Reaching their first destination, Nicholas signed for the package and to Alex's surprise handed it over to him. He understood as soon as he felt the familiar weight in his hand. He sent a silent thanks to Ianto whom, surely, it must have been who had arranged for Alex's gun to follow him back across the Atlantic. Lacking a holster, and not wanting to risk misunderstandings, Alex slipped the courier bag unopened into his pocket. Nicholas nodded in what Alex thought was approval and led the way to baggage claim.


	2. British Ambassador's Residence, Washington

Alex thought he could get used to the Torchwood version of a busman's holiday. He wasn't a stranger to chauffeur service but normally he was the one behind the wheel rather than the one relaxing in the backseat while the driver, Tim, worried about the traffic. The flight had landed late, an intentional precaution against casual curiosity, and the ride was a riot of multicoloured flares kindling and fading into the darkness. Above it all the Capitol dominated the skyline, whitewashed with light. Alex thought of the times he had watched Mulder there, such a small figure but undiminished among the neo-classical pretension. Another life but one he had never, could never, truly leave behind, because of Mulder if for no other reason. Nicholas left Alex to the view and his own thoughts as they drove. A spy's trick, fading into the background, and, while he recognised it, Alex was thankful for it.

The residence was a picture of elegance if you liked Regency opulence. For the most part Alex did not care one way or another about the aesthetics of his environment but eye-watering colour schemes could become more than a matter of bad design if they put you off your shot. The building was quiet. Alex had to shrug off the feeling that he was intruding, reminding himself he was there legitimately and didn't need to sneak. Nicholas' presence by his side did little to assuage the feeling which was why Alex had to check his automatic grab for his gun when a door opened behind them as they walked along one of the many impeccably similar corridors. Alex was sure that Nicholas noted the aborted movement.

"Nicholas?"

Their interrupter was older than either of them but Alex estimated that there was less than a decade in it. The face was strong; approaching middle age had done little more than underlined time's passing while pale blue eyes peered intelligently from under dark brows. The clothes were loose and comfortable, suitable for an evening's relaxation rather than any official business, the sort of outfit a man might put on who otherwise lived his life in a suit. Alex looked at Nicholas to confirm his suspicion regarding who had accosted them.

"Mark?" Nicholas looked politely surprised. "What are you doing up?"

Alex would have been willing to lay money that the surprise was genuine even if the politeness Nicholas shoehorned onto it wasn't.

Nicholas' question was met with an equally bland deflection, "Can't an ambassador walk around his own residence?"

Alex remained impassive but could feel the smile stretch beneath his skin. He couldn't help but get the impression that this was a game that the two men played, and enjoyed, on a regular basis. Alex supposed there wasn't any harm so long as they both knew who called the shots when the bullets were flying. Maybe it was what they needed to deal with the disconnected hierarchy of having a nominal subordinate who answered to a higher authority but it made Alex twitchy even as it amused him.

Nicholas frowned slightly at Mark. "Do we need to have another talk on the meaning of plausible deniability?"

There was an unease between them for a moment, a testing of the understanding that existed between them.

"Why?" Mark smiled with a hint of challenge. "Is an international incident likely this time?"

Nicholas' lips quirked in acknowledgment and resignation, dispersing the tension. Some time, soon, Alex was really going to have to find out what Ianto had got up to while he was in Washington. He had assumed, and now that he thought about it, he had been led to assume that the reticence that Jack and Ianto had displayed had been related to Nicholas. He should have known better than to trust either of them. When he returned to Wales he was going to have to have a very long talk with them about misleading any of their colleagues smart enough to catch on, namely himself.

"Alex Krycek," Nicholas introduced, "Sir Mark Brydon."

Alex shook the proffered hand; it was warm and strong, large but not overwhelming - the type of hand you sent out to represent the country at diplomatic functions when appearance was as important as substance.

"Pleased to meet you, Sir Mark," he offered. He'd been with the Brit long enough to add a gloss of British manners to the home-grown ones of his upbringing. The Consortium were the biggest sticklers for etiquette outside Buckingham Palace.

Mark's eyebrows rose. "You're American?"

"Yes."

There were so many different ways to answer that, that Alex picked the simplest. He didn't miss the way Mark immediately glanced to Nicholas for an explanation.

"He works for Torchwood," Nicholas supplied, unblinking. Alex watched the tension vibrate between them for a moment and then Mark looked away from Nicholas and back to him. That was apparently all it took.

"I'm sure there is a story there that you aren't going to tell me." A flash of humour transformed Mark's face as his took in Alex's well-tailored suit. "At least you look less like a rent-boy than the last one." He looked back at Nicholas. "Jane told me the rumours were still doing the rounds."

"Jane told you that?" Nicholas sounded surprised, apparently taking the comment seriously although Alex didn't think it had been meant that way.

Mark looked defensive but whether on his own behalf or for the aforementioned Jane, Alex wasn't sure. "I had gone some way to disproving them at the time," he admitted stiffly.

Nicholas frowned a little, a small crease forming between his eyebrows. "Is it likely to be a problem? I would have thought Jane's presence..."

"I'm sure it did, right until she left and I had a young man brought over," Mark nodded an apology to Alex. "By the way, if she asks, I'm telling her he's one of yours."

Alex wasn't entirely sure how that last was supposed to be taken but it seemed better not to ask.

"Is she likely to ask?" Nicholas tone suggested he was just collecting the facts but the hair on the back of Alex's neck rose. He had never had the same belief in psychic phenomena that Mulder had, and certainly had no such pretensions himself, but years in the game had given him a sixth sense for the hidden.

Mark paused before answering and something that Alex couldn't quite grasp hovered in the silence. He filed his impressions away for later analysis.

"I'm not actually sure," Mark admitted.

Nicholas raised an eyebrow but let that pass without comment. "It isn't a bad cover, all things considered," he said carefully instead.

"It is if I want to be taken seriously by the Americans," Mark pointed out, "but we'd better discuss this later." Nicholas' nod was discrete but acquiescent. The subject was dropped, for then at least. Like the topic, Nicholas was dismissed for the moment as Mark turned his full attention to Alex. "I'm sorry Alex, we seem to have got slightly off the point. I wanted to welcome you to the residence, even if I'm not supposed to know you are here for now. Nicholas - we can discuss everything further at the briefing tomorrow."

"I can come by after I've seen Alex to his room if you want," Nicholas offered.

"Thank you, Nicholas, but probably best we leave things for now." Mark's eyes darted between Nicholas and Alex. "Tomorrow will be soon enough. On the subject of which - Azzam wants to ask you something; he won't tell me what. I'd take it as a personal favour if you didn't tell him any more of anyone else's state secrets. I spent the last reception petrified about what he might say to the French Ambassador." At Nicholas' nod of understanding Mark turned back to Alex. "It was nice to meet you, Mr. Krycek." The smile was unclouded. "I'm sure I will see you tomorrow when we are officially introduced."

Alex found himself shaking Mark's hand again. There was something about the man that made you take part in the pointless inanities and made them seem meaningful. Alex hadn't decided whether that was a good thing or a bad one but, in its own way, it made Mark as dangerous as Nicholas.

When Mark had, once more, retreated into his own domain, Nicholas showed Alex into his room.

"So how much of that was an act?" Alex asked bluntly as soon as the door was closed behind them.

"Surprisingly little," Nicholas admitted without rancour, "Mark is a very intelligent man and a damn good ambassador. Which, as you can imagine, makes life very interesting for the rest of us."

'Interesting' was one word; Alex was sure that Nicholas had a few others he used privately. He nodded tightly to show he understood. A few more words about how the next day would play out and Nicholas bade Alex goodnight. Not before time. Drifting to sleep, Alex thought of Torchwood Three and the situation he had found himself in, but it was Mulder who accompanied his conscious mind into his dreams.


	3. British Embassy, Washington

Nicholas keyed his way into the embassy via the bridge link from the residence. At that time of night the building was deserted except for the odd security guard. Glancing at his watch, Nicolas confirmed no one was scheduled to check the offices for another few hours.

He unlocked one of the secure rooms and started up the teleconference equipment. With the press of a few buttons the Torchwood logo appeared on the screen in front of him. Nicholas had time to wonder who had thought it was a good idea to go with a club version of Bowie's Starman as the on-hold music as he settled further in his chair to wait. He'd promised that he would call Jack when he had got Alex safely ensconced, and having now met the man Nicholas had a few questions for Jack himself, but he hardly expected an immediate answer given the time difference.

Two verses in and the image changed to display Jack's office and Jack looking a little bleary eyed but better than a lot of people managed before 6.00 a.m. The alertness was possibly thanks to the content of the mug gripped in his hand with all the tenacity of a drowning man holding a life preserver.

"Good morning, Group Captain," Nicholas greeted. It was late enough that it was easy not to sound too cheery. Even morning people, of which Jack was not one to Nicholas' memory, tended to react badly to others who were chirpier than them in the morning.

Jack grinned. "Captain," he stressed. His eyes flicked over where Nicholas thought that the projection of him must be. "You know, you and Her Majesty are the only people who ever call me that; it must be something about being a..."

"Careful, Harkness," Nicholas interrupted. That really was too obvious, even with the early morning as an excuse, but then Jack's sense of humour had always been pretty basic.

As if proving Nicholas' thought, Jack's grin transmuted into a smirk and he leant back in his chair.

"You've said that before," he said smugly.

"And yet you never seem to listen." Nicholas shook his head with exaggerated regret.

Jack's voice gained a low purr. "Maybe I just like hearing you say it," he suggested.

Nicholas laughed; Jack Harkness never changed. Literally. Nicholas was convinced he must have an aged and desiccated painting hidden in an attic somewhere. Strictly speaking, Nicholas wasn't sure he had said any such thing before, and certainly not in the way that Jack was implying, but he had definitely expressed similar sentiments to the other man over the years. Quite why it had been his squad's bad, or good depending on how you looked at it, luck to run into alien tech while on patrol in Bosnia, Nicholas had never wondered. Those things just happened sometimes, like running into roadmines. Exactly whose fault it had been that they had taken the time to document, report and guard the as-then-unidentified object he knew only too well, and he considered Jack's continued presence in his life a deserved consequence. His commanding officer had felt the same way at the time, making Nicholas the liaison between the regular troops and the various U.N.I.T and Torchwood personnel who descended on them because the mess had been 'all his bloody doing'. Still, it had been fun and Nicholas had been secretly tempted by the job offers he had received at the end of it. He might even have taken Torchwood up on theirs had the Foreign Office not offered more opportunities. Jack had been quite persistent until Nicholas had taken him aside and explained very thoroughly and carefully why he wasn't taking up Jack's offer of employment. And that since they weren't going to be working together other offers were negotiable. They had kept in touch afterwards and Nicholas sometimes wondered if it had been Jack who had put his name forward to MI6.

"Too much?" Jack asked, not the slightest bit contrite as he took a sip of his coffee.

Nicholas shook his head, as much in disbelief as in denial, "I didn't think you knew what that meant."

The mask of humour fell from Jack's face and he lent towards the camera, all business as he peered over his cup. "'Too much' is the point I send my guys to you for a few weeks to get their heads straight," he said. "I missed what was happening with Susie and I am not letting that happen again."

Nicholas nodded understanding. Of course, in practical terms it meant that Nicholas had to manage and, although it was never stated aloud, evaluate potentially unstable and on-edge agents who had been trained to deal with aliens rather than humans. And, all more noble reasons aside, Jack sent him the ones who, for whatever reason, Jack didn't want to deal with himself.

"You like making my life harder, don't you?" Nicholas sighed.

"And not just your life," Jack leered for a moment, long habit too much to resist, before donning his professional face again. "Alex will be fine. He just needs time away from here to think: do something mundane, seduce his FBI agent..."

"The one he's supposed to be keeping away from?" Nicholas pointed out. Ianto's report had been fairly clear on that point, although thinking back on it in the light of Jack's comment there had seemed to be an undue amount of detail devoted to what to do should any otherwise suppressed memories be triggered.

Jack ignored him. "...Get things into perspective," he finished.

Nicholas studied Jack carefully.

"At least he didn't turn up looking liked I'd hired him for the evening." Nicholas was willing to bet that he had Ianto to thank for that. Jack had the fashion sense of a man who thought World War Two military chic was suitable for every occasion. The question, however, was not one of sartorial elegance. "Is he trustworthy?"

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Are you?"

That wasn't an answer so much as a challenge. Jack trusted him with his team at their most vulnerable and Jack didn't trust many people.

"I take your point," Nicholas conceded, "but will he do his job? Mark's son has been threatened and I am not going to risk the boy if there is any chance that your Mr. Krycek could be compromised."

It was one of the advantages about working with someone who understood; they didn't get pointlessly offended when you were doing the job you had to do.

"He'll do what's necessary," Jack stated clearly. There was no compromise or hesitation in his voice and Nicholas was certain that Jack completely believed what he was saying. Jack's eyes dipped down from the camera to the papers on his desk, "Nicholas, don't let him get himself killed."

So Jack blamed himself for whatever had happened, Nicholas made a mental note. And Jack was worried, not about what Alex might do but about what might happen to him.

"I sent the last one back in better shape than I got him, didn't I?" Nicholas pointed out.

"Reluctantly," Jack accused.

Nicholas spread his hands innocently. "Can you blame me?"

Away from Cardiff, Jack and constant reminders of everything that had happened, Ianto had still needed a challenge to distract him, although Nicholas rather thought that he been trying to bury himself in any tasks he was given, hoping to be lost in a sea of paperwork and never found. The results had been rather more than Nicholas had bargained for, but when the dust had settled he had definitely counted it on the plus side of his personal ledger. He had also dragged Ianto out a few times and got him blindingly drunk. From what Ianto had let slip the counselling after Torchwood One had fallen had been criminally useless and at Torchwood Three it was nonexistent unless you felt like retconning a psychologist every week after you had convinced them you weren't delusional. Nicholas had read Jack the riot act the next time he had talked to him in private, not that it had done much good. He had also slipped Ianto the name of one of the U.N.I.T shrinks when he left, along with a sealed note to give to Jack which just read 'Talk to him, you stupid bastard'.

Jack glared at him. "Ianto sends his best wishes by the way," he relented.

Nicholas smiled; he could have done with the Welshman on his staff more than a few times since then.

"How is he?" he asked with more than polite interest.

Jack looked at his cup fondly, an expression Nicholas had only seen a few times before. "Kindly letting me think I run the place."

"Well," Nicholas did his best to make it sound like Jack had no influence in the matter, "if he ever wants a change of scenery, let him know the offer is still open."

"M16 can kiss my exceedingly cute arse." Jack flashed his most charming grin. "Of course, if it's you... that offer is always open."

"I'll pass that right along," Nicholas assured him, "suitably sanitized, of course."

"As you like." Jack sounded disappointed although Nicholas was almost sure he was putting it on. But then it was always a bit hard to tell with Jack how much of what he said he meant seriously, although Nicholas didn't doubt that he meant all of it. The twinkle in his eyes was especially disconcerting and downright filthy. Before matters descended onto their oft-held discussion about Nicholas' old U.N. beret and whether or not the blue brought out the colour of his eyes, Nicholas crowbarred the conversation back to the point.

"So, anything else I need to know," he said repressively, "specifically, relating to the situation with Mr. Krycek?"

Jack raised an eyebrow in challenge at the change of subject but allowed it to happen.

"We'd prefer it if you didn't bug Alex's briefing to U.N.I.T," Jack's voice was dry, "but I assume that is too much to ask."

"Whitehall would never condone the bugging of a top secret briefing," Nicholas replied in the same tone, the shock more fake than a parliamentary denial.

"I'm sure they wouldn't," Jack agreed insincerely. He sighed. "At least send me a copy of the tapes. I'd like to hear what he has to say."

"I thought you trusted him?" Nicholas slid the words out like the first bid in a poker game, confident that he held all the cards on this occasion so the question was how high the ante could go before Jack folded.

"I do," Jack's eyes narrowed, "I just want to make sure he doesn't forget anything important."

"And you have an alien water transit device you would like to show me," Nicholas scoffed. "Have it your way, Jack. Just remember how many you owe me."

And how much more Jack would owe him if he was forced to put a bullet in Krycek, assuming he could. The man was good and Nicholas needed all the warning he could get if there was likely to be trouble. Nicholas might be in Jack's debt after the debacle with Tyrgyztan but that was a different account and Jack knew it too.

"Any time you want to come to Cardiff and collect," Jack let the offer hang. Nicholas dipped his chin and Jack relaxed, letting the offer slip into innuendo. "I'll send the others home early..."

Nicholas stifled a smile. Let Jack Harkness know he had gained an inch and he would take a bloody mile.

"On the subject of whom... Is that your staff I hear arriving, Group Captain?" Their business was done unless Jack had anything more to add.

Jack looked off-camera towards whatever had caused the disturbance that Nicholas had faintly heard. His face took on that softer, fond look for a moment.

"Not entirely." Jack didn't elaborate but then Nicholas didn't think he really needed to. Jack apparently caught his smirk because he glared unconvincingly. "Keep me informed," he said brusquely. "Talk to you soon. Pleasant dreams, Nicholas." Jack winked. "Torchwood Three out."

The screen went black as the link disconnected before Nicholas could wish Jack anything in return. Nicholas flicked the equipment off as his end; it never hurt to be sure and Jack had one of the best techs in the business working for him. Bringing his fingers up to his lips he tapped them there as he thought.

Exiting the secure room, Nicholas saw Mark waiting for him, a rueful smile on his face. One look at that expression told Nicholas he didn't need to worry about there having been a diplomatic crisis, just a personal one.

"I thought you said it could wait until tomorrow?" Nicholas said quietly.

"So I did." Mark looked pointedly at the clock on the wall where both hands had tilted well past the vertical, "Do you mind? With everything, I just couldn't sleep."

Nicholas smiled crookedly. "Not at all, Ambassador. Shall we go somewhere more appropriate and see if we can find some way to set your mind at ease?"

The automatic lights shut off behind them as they headed for the residence.


	4. British Embassy, Washington

"What did you think of Azzam?" Nicholas' soft question caught Alex by surprise. There were many subjects upon which Alex expected to get interrogated, but a child he had only met briefly was not one of them. Not the first time that Nicholas had got him alone in his office. He slanted a look at Nicholas trying to work out what his angle was.

"Quiet kid," he said diplomatically. There had been something not quite right with the child who had looked at him with large dark eyes and solemnly said 'how do you do' when they had been introduced at the end of breakfast. It wasn't the skin-crawling 'not right' that he got sometimes in the presence of child-hosts but the disquieting feeling that you got around tiny adults in children's skins. The ones who had grown up too fast and in the wrong ways. The discreet enthusiasm of his response to his father, and his smile at seeing Nicholas, had gone some way towards reassuring Alex that maybe the missing mother accounted for the difference, but he couldn't quite believe he was looking at a kid who had been brought up in the comparative luxury of the British foreign service.

"Been through a lot," Nicholas commented, seeing Alex wasn't going to ask. "Saw his mother and later his uncle killed. His father was found dead just after his uncle was shot, probably murdered although it was never proven. Nasty business all around."

Alex shook his head sympathetically because he felt it was required. Children had never really been part of his life in a meaningful way since he was one.

"I hope you have the number of a good therapist," he said for lack of anything else to say.

"She seems to be so far," Nicholas agreed. His mouth twitched into a smile and Alex realised the Nicholas must have vetted whoever the person was. He probably knew more about them than they did about themselves.

"So how did he end up here?" Alex felt he was expected to ask something and from Nicholas' brief summary, the kid seemed to be out of close relatives.

"Mark was his godfather and his father named him as legal guardian. Filed the papers after Azzam's mother was killed and dusted them off just before he disappeared."

Alex's eyes narrowed as he thought that through. "Knew he wasn't coming back?"

"Pretty much. Left the boy with Mark, to keep him safe, and ran."

"But not fast enough," Alex surmised.

Nicholas nodded. "Body was fished out of the Potomac."

You had to respect that in a way, making sure the child was cared for. From the look of things Mark had certainly been willing and able to take the child in.

"Sir Mark didn't want to return to Britain to raise the boy?"

Nicholas shrugged. "They were about to announce Mark's return to Britain to take up political office before Azzam came into Mark's care. For unrelated reasons it was decided that the country was best served if Mark remained in place as ambassador. They found some guy called Saxon to stand at the by-election in his stead," Nicholas explained. "At the time Mark also had one of his staff who had been badly injured under his care at the residence. It may have factored in his decision to stay." 'Jane', Alex guessed. The Jane who had just left and might or might not be interested in what Mark supposedly got up to in his private life. "How much do you know about events last year?" Nicholas asked.

Alex mentally ran through all the events within the previous twelve months, put together a few half-remembered rumours and took an educated guess.

"The attack on the plane?" Alex offered. "Linked to Tyrgyztani militants. The opposition leader was assassinated while staying at the British embassy and there was some crap about WMDs in Tyrgyztan," Nicholas raised an eyebrow at that but said nothing. "Every information source in existence seemed to think that war was about to start any second. Only it didn't."

Alex had been running errands for the Brit during most of that time and keeping up with current affairs had been part of that. The bombing had made Alex shiver. While the Brit, like most of the Consortium upper echelon, kept his own plane, unless Alex was flying with him, Alex worked under the radar which meant flying economy. Alex didn't kid himself that he was more than a little cog in the system, but the thought that some fundamentalist idiot could take him out over a petty squabble when the entire world hung in the balance had been horribly sobering. It was at times like that when he invented paranoid plots in which the aliens were deliberately stirring up trouble as both smokescreen and fifth column. There had been something strange going on but try as he might, Alex hadn't found any evidence of alien involvement so he had let it drop in favour of more pressing and intergalactic matters.

As he recalled, rumour said that Sir Mark Brydon had been the lone voice against the war and there were many writing off his career over it. In the aftermath of the assassination of the Tyrgyztan leader by Islamic militants who feared he was going to give in to American demands the war was put on hold while the West waited to see who it was they were invading and the objections of one diplomat were filed and forgotten. Alex hadn't put the names together until that moment. And afterwards Sir Mark had stayed in America rather than returning home and taking a run at the cabinet. Punishment for being right and speaking against the war, Alex wondered. Or maybe there had been more to it and Mark's continued presence was the result of his staring down the Americans and coming out even.

Whatever had been going on that hadn't made it to the news, Alex had a strong feeling that Mark, and therefore Nicholas, had been at the heart of it.

Nicholas slid a file across the table to Alex. The bright red stamps emblazened on it suggested harsh but not dire punishments if he distributed the information to the general public. So this wasn't all the answers then, just those that they were permitting him to see. He'd never been very good at respecting such boundaries and made a personal resolution to find out the rest.

"Coffee?" Nicholas asked politely.

Alex nodded, slightly distracted, already absorbed in the documents in front of him. He recognised that Nicholas was giving him time and space to study the material. Most of it was newspaper clippings and public reports, piecing together the mosaic pieces that tied Britain, Washington and Tyrgyztan together in a knotted web that had lasted over a decade. He sipped the coffee when it arrived, pleased to note the pale dilution of milk and vaguely wondering how Nicholas had known how he took it as Nicholas didn't strike him as the type to make do with lucky guesses.

He wished he had some means of taking notes. The years had taught him to take in and analyse information without such supplements but he still liked to feel a stylus in his hand or the keyboard under his fingers. Even when he did not write anything it helped him think.

"Azzam and Eshan were related?" he asked at last.

"Eshan was Azzam's uncle." The conformation was supplied quickly and without emphasis.

The uncle whom Azzam saw murdered. Assassinated on American soil while playing with him and his father, according to the report.

He looked at Nicholas, watching him closely, "You organised the assassination in Tyrgyztan." It wasn't so much an accusation as a statement.

Nicholas acted surprised at the idea. "Usman was killed by Islamist militant extremists." He parroted the official line. Alex hoped his expression adequately conveyed just how little he bought that load of baloney, although he had to concede that Nicholas sold it well.

"Who just happened to kill him at the worst possible time for them." Alex let that hang for a moment. "And the best possible time for you."

Nicholas shrugged, unconcerned. "Such groups are not known for their logical actions," he argued.

'Deny everything', the motto of dubious bastards everywhere. Alex should know - he practically had it tattooed on his heart, right under Mulder's name. Nicholas wasn't going to give anything away but Alex's gut told him he was right. It just didn't make sense otherwise. He could feel the question of why already beginning to percolate at the back of his mind. To stop the war that was brewing? To save Mark's career? Revenge? Nicholas didn't seem like the type, and revenge for what? Eshan's death?

Nicholas had been evaluating him carefully as they spoke. A tight regard that made Alex's skin twitch. He had suddenly become dangerous, Alex realised.

"And now they are after Azzam?" He diplomatically let the matter drop.

Whatever the relationship was between Jack and Nicholas, Alex had crossed a line in Nicholas' mind and he was sure his change of subject was being weighed against what he might do with his suspicions.

"They are one possible source for the threats," Nicholas agreed in the same soft tone he always used, "but we don't know for sure."

Was that an admission? Alex felt himself slipping into the mindset of his Consortium days, seeing three meanings behind every word. Was it too cynical to wonder if the so-called militants existed at all or whether they were a cover story that had been used for so long by so many people that they had gained a life of their own?

Alex found the copies of the threats where he had organised them on the table, pulling them closer to confirm his previous impressions.

"They weren't signed." He tapped the paper where the self-promoting spiel should be. "Someone should be claiming this."

"Which is unusual for terrorist groups," Nicholas agreed, "and why we aren't limiting our investigation."

Alex turned that over in his mind. "Who are the other suspects?"

"Supporters of Usman's old regime who have lost power... Political rivals of Eshan's faction... you have the list of most likely possibilities." Nicholas pointed to a page of the report that Alex had put aside. "Both the FBI and our own security services are investigating but at this point we just don't know."

It didn't make sense. All this over one boy with no family left and no political power. Not that those two factors were unconnected. The entire sorry story was a Merchant Ivory soap opera with its marriage alliances and 'old boys'' networks. The international support given to Usman must have come as something of a nasty surprise given how firmly Eshan was in bed with the British, literally, through his sister... Alex's thoughts skidded to a stop, one question suddenly filling his mind. Maybe it was working with the Consortium that had made him jaundiced to such things, or maybe it was the way that there had never been a question over whether Mark would take Azzam in, a child he had hardly seen or spoken to in years.

"Whose child is Azzam?" Alex asked quietly.

Nicholas looked at him with pale blue, shuttered eyes and said nothing. That figured, Alex thought.

He'd passed the earlier test then. Either that or he failed it so spectacularly that Nicholas was going to have him killed and didn't care what other theories Alex managed to think up. Alex felt a savage challenge well up inside him. Nicholas could _try_; he wouldn't be the first who had.

"Does he know that 'daddy' wasn't?"

He thought about the quiet, dark-eyed boy who had carefully hugged his adopted father when he saw him, but with a slight hesitancy as if it was a gesture that neither were entirely sure about yet.

Nicholas shook his head. "Even Mark only suspects; he doesn't know for sure."

"But you do." Alex wondered what lie Nicholas had used, whose names he had attached to the test when he had it run.

"It's my job."

"And now you've made it mine. Why?"

Was it another test? Results could be faked easily enough, one way or another depending on the outcome that MI6 wanted. Nicholas smiled in response and Alex couldn't quite convince himself it was friendly.

"So they could be trying to attack Sir Mark through the boy," Alex concluded.

"And they don't need a blood link for that." Nicholas swept that minor detail away. "The adoption is a matter of public record and not everyone was happy about it. There were a few protests that Azzam should be returned to his extended family in Tyrgyztan. Some apparently felt he would be better dead than in Mark's care and that included some of Eshan's followers who blamed Mark for his death."

What a fucking mess, Alex decided. It made him miss the simplicity of the aliens. They came, you either saved them, sent them on their way or killed them and that was the end of it. In Cardiff at least. Which, presumably, was why Jack had sent him here. Bastard. And triple bastard that it was working.

"What do you want me to do?" Alex asked, "I don't have the sort of contacts that you would need to track down the people who made these threats." Not unless they had dropped them from their space ship in passing.

"I want you to help me make sure none of those threats become reality. You would be shadowing Azzam, if you're willing. He has a security detail but I want you working with them. In addition I want you going over both his and Mark's schedules with me and coming up with possible scenarios and how best to defend against them. We don't know whether we are dealing with one lunatic or something more organised and we can't assume that they will scruple at collateral damage."

"You're asking a lot," Alex said honestly. There wasn't room for misunderstandings in this type of situation and Nicholas had laid it out pretty clearly. He wasn't just asking for Alex's input but for Alex to be willing to risk his life.

"Jack seemed to think you could handle it," Nicholas acknowledged. Alex was sure Jack did; set an assassin to catch an assassin after all, but Jack was on the other side of the Atlantic and at something of an advantage when it came to life and death situations. Nicholas must have seen some of that in Alex's expression as he continued, "But if you aren't sure say so and we can get someone else. I don't want to take any chances."

'And that includes you.' Alex could hear the words as clearly as if Nicholas had said them aloud.

Alex took a deep breath and made his decision.

"I can do it," he agreed.

Nicholas nodded, apparently expecting Alex's agreement but recognising the importance of it needing to be given.

"What about the locals?" Alex asked. If the FBI was involved in this then it might bring a whole new Mulder-shaped complication into an already tangled situation.

Nicholas' eyes crinkled into a slight and knowing smile. "I'll be dealing with the FBI. George Blake is our contact. She deals with political cases and we've worked with her before. Try not to get into trouble, but if anything happens for any reason then ask for her."

A polite knock had Nicholas flashing a glance at the clock on the wall. Alex was surprised how much time had elapsed. At Nicholas' welcoming response a man in uniform popped his head around the door.

"Have you finished with him or do you need him for a bit longer?" The clipped accent spoke of a distinguished military career almost more than the insignia on his epaulettes. It was as if even his syllables stood to attention.

"Sorry Paul," Nicholas apologised with what might have been a genuine smile, "we were just finishing here. Go do your briefing with General Lane," he told Alex, "I'll have the information you need made available to you by the time you've finished. Give me your preliminary thoughts this afternoon. We can discuss this further afterwards."

Nicholas would withhold some information, Alex supposed. The man clearly didn't totally trust him although Jack's recommendation had got his foot, and a good portion of the rest of him, through the door.

Alex nodded to himself as he followed the U.N.I.T representative from Nicholas' office. Bodyguarding a kid; could be worse, he supposed.


	5. Washington, DC

Alex should have expected it really. Things had been going so well in the two weeks he had been in Washington. Jennifer, the head of the household staff at the embassy and hostess when required, had been predisposed to like him for his role in keeping Azzam safe. She had been as easily swayed by his big-eyed, polite act as she had been by the boy. As yet frustrated maternal instinct finding an outlet as Mark was irredeemably un-motherable. Alex could tell Nicholas had been amused at his dissembling but he regularly got extra home-baked shortbread which more than made up for it.

The days had quickly begun to fall into a pattern. On the third morning he joined in the early workout that Nicholas ran for Mark and any other staff who wanted some exercise before the official day began. It was during one of those sessions that Alex mentally dropped the 'Sir' from the front of Mark's name. For someone who had spent his life in the diplomatic corps, Mark certainly knew some surprisingly undiplomatic words in a variety of languages when Nicholas insisted he could do those five more reps. It made a change from chasing Weevils.

Except for those times when Azzam left the relative safety of the residence, the day was spent prowling around the building trying to scare the shit out of the other security guys. An activity which was taken in the spirit it was intended. Alex had pretty much given up being perplexed by the British association of everything with alcohol so he was unsurprised to find that some enterprising spark had set up a forfeits system with those he managed to get the jump on buying the rounds for the others on their shift.

By mid-way through the second week it had become his habit to get together with Nicholas at the end of each working day and discuss the security arrangements and any potential problems. Occasionally Mark joined them, making surprisingly devious suggestions about how an attack might be launched. There was something slightly perverse about trying to work out how to assassinate yourself but Alex thought Mark rather enjoyed it. Especially when, after one particularly trying day with the American administration, they ended up switching briefs and spent the evening planning how best to take out most of the American government starting with the Secretary of Defence and the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Much to Alex's amusement, it was only after they had plotted the demise of most of the Presidential advisors that they realised they had totally forgotten about the President. By the time Alex left Nicholas and Mark to it, glasses of brandy in their hands and ties loosened, they had plotted the overthrow of half the western world and were making a good start on the other half.

Even so, Alex was surprised that his first thought was actually thankfulness that he was off duty when, returning from a walk, he suddenly found himself eating the wall and trying to scratch his shoulder blade the hard way.

"Gotcha!" Mulder's gloating voice rang in his ears and explained the heavy weight on his back. Alex relaxed and didn't make any of the possible moves that would have stood a chance of getting him out of the embarrassing situation.

Getting caught by Mulder was hardly new but normally he was the one making sure it happened. It wasn't that he had forgotten Mulder, the man hadn't been far from his thoughts the whole time he had been in Washington, but he had managed to separate the Mulder of his dreams with the one who was walking around the city. Krycek knew his haunts and had kept mostly clear of them, not ready for their next encounter and not really wanting to jeopardise his job. Either of them.

"Mulder." the clear female voice was both warning and reassurance.

Alex rolled his eyes sideways and was just able to see the diminutive figure of Scully, much larger with a gun in her hand, covering them with a competence that told Alex he would regret it if he tried anything. In the grand scheme of things it was probably lucky that he hadn't gone with his first instinct and laid Mulder out.

The pressure on his arm lessened as Mulder lowered it just far enough to snick the handcuff around his wrists. The cold metal and Mulder's breath on the back of his neck took Alex back to other more felicitous occasions but the superficial similarity ended very quickly. He hadn't seen Mulder since Cardiff and the lack of anything but Mulder's firearm poking him in the back suggested that, in Mulder's case, absence had not made the heart grow fonder.

Alex kept waiting for Mulder to comment on his lack of fake arm as the agent manhandled him into the car. It wasn't something that Mulder could fail to notice and Alex had a small hope that he could use it as a way to get behind Mulder's guard. He did have alien technology to thank for his complete state and if he could just get Mulder on his own, maybe on some type of road trip to find the mythical source of that technology, then Alex was sure he could bring Mulder round. Again. However Mulder, in his typical contrary way, did not seem to have noticed anything unusual in the usual number of Alex's limbs. Just his luck; Mulder appeared to have forgotten his loss which meant that Alex was out of bargaining chips. He just had to hope that the safeguards that Nicholas and Torchwood had put into place would be enough.

The car journey passed in silence.

The interview room was purposefully comfortless. The walls a dull white that would have been monotonous if it had not been for the stains and patches of discolouration which spoke of damp and other worse things. Alex wondered if they were deliberate or merely the result of a tight budget and lack of attention. The table was as plain as the rest of the room, uncomfortable looking chairs grouped around it in such a way as to suggest that a lawyer wasn't expected any time soon and all reflected in the large glass mirror that fooled no one.

Alex landed in his designated seat hard, a push from Mulder helping him down. The man really needed to retake the course on the correct treatment of prisoners. Not that it would ever go to court but Mulder was a few more shoves away from a brutality mistrial.

Scully hovered in the corner, watching. Alex wasn't sure if she was there for his protection or Mulder's. The reasonable cop to Mulder's insane cop. He had to acknowledge that it was a dynamic that worked well for them.

"What were you doing at the hospital yesterday, Krycek?" Mulder demanded. Ignoring the chairs for the psychological advantage of looming at him.

Alex glared back; it seemed the only response he could give as he had no idea what Mulder was talking about. That wasn't entirely unprecedented but this was off-the-wall even by Mulder's standards. He could remember the previous day perfectly, and there was none of the prodding-a-loose-filling numbness that sometimes accompanied memory tinkering which made him pretty sure that the day had happened as he thought it had. It made him wonder if they had been screwing with Mulder's head again and exactly what he had supposedly done this time. Either that or the Consortium were back to playing around with cloning technology which wasn't the most encouraging thought in the world.

"Come on, Krycek. We go to interview a patient and there you are, skulking around." Mulder leant forwards across the table, so close that Alex could smell the sunflower seeds on his breath. He suspected it was supposed to be intimidating. It just made him glad his hands weren't free so he wasn't tempted to pull Mulder that last bit closer and kiss the pouting lips. Mulder pulled back suddenly, a slight flush creeping up his neck. It was an interesting reaction but unhelpful.

"George Blake," Alex said shortly.

Mulder jumped on his words. "What about him?"

Alex paused; he had been fairly sure Nicholas had referred to Blake as female but he wasn't about to reveal the limits of his knowledge. The more information he gave Mulder the more likely the man would dig his heels in and be ornery, but give him the barest of bare-bones information and he would risk everything to dig deeper. Alex smiled and refused to say anything else.


	6. FBI Headquarters, Washington

Deputy Director George Blake glared at her computer. She'd missed lunch thanks to a meeting that ran on twice as long as the content to justify it and a sudden crisis involving the blackmail of a French diplomat. Just to make her day Assistant Director Skinner was requesting a meeting. George shut her eyes for a moment, hoping that the words on the screen in front of her would magically change into something else while she wasn't looking at them. It wasn't that she had anything against Skinner, a good man by all reports, it was just that with Skinner came internal politics.

George had her own opinions on the X-Files which, like most things, she kept to herself. How much of it was true she didn't know but nothing generated that much of a headache and remained open without a reason. The fact that it had been shut down and reopened more than once just convinced her that there was something going on and something that she wanted to keep well away from. Unfortunately their respective positions meant she could hardly turn Skinner down. Sighing, George put aside any thoughts of sneaking out for a quick sandwich and sent a reply to him that she was free for the next hour if it was important. He was there so quickly that she half-wondered if he had been waiting outside her door.

"We have a suspect in interrogation asking for you," Skinner began when the usual courtesies had been dispensed with.

"Asking for me?" George asked, confused. "He gave my name?"

She tried to think of anyone involved in any of her cases or any of her snitches who might have been picked up by one of Skinner's agents. Unless the French were at it again.

"We aren't sure. All he would say was 'George Blake'. My agent has some theory involving Russian double agents and British spies." Skinner's shrug suggested that he was not convinced. "His partner pointed out a more logical possibility."

It was logical, wasn't it? An obscure British traitor whom no one had ever heard of, except miraculously around her, or the Special Agent in Charge of the Washington FBI office. They stared at each other for a moment, an undercurrent of suspicion making it more than the meeting between colleagues it seemed.

"Me," George finished for him. "What is he being held for?"

Skinner looked entirely too pleased as he said, with just a trace of gloating, "He is being held on suspicion of terrorism."

"Terrorism?" George echoed, surprised. While there was a terrorism unit based within the office, as there was with all major FBI offices, she didn't work with them closely unless there was a specifically political edge to their investigation. "Who's the suspect?"

"An ex-FBI agent named Alexander Krycek." Skinner bit off the name as if it tasted bad.

Even before Skinner had finished speaking, alarm bells were ringing in the back of George's mind.

Skinner hadn't missed her reaction. "You know him?" he demanded.

George looked at him calmly. Skinner was an imposing figure but she hadn't made her way up through the ranks without staring down more testosterone-fuelled Neanderthals than she cared to remember. Some of whom had been a lot bigger and a lot more powerful than an Assistant Director whom she out-ranked. Skinner appeared to realise this too and backed down slightly.

"Sorry, Deputy Director." The formality had a sharpness that could cut. "But I have to ask whether you know Alex Krycek or have any idea why he might have given us your name."

Skinner really disliked this man, George realised. Whatever had happened, there was a personal agenda that was driving it now. That wasn't necessarily a bad thing; there were a few people whose graves she would happily have spat on and whom putting behind bars had been the personal highpoints in her career.

"I have never met the man," she said carefully, "but he is related to a case I am working on involving threats made against the British Ambassador and his family."

"That sounds like his M.O." Skinner's eyes had lit up at the news and George felt sorry that she was about to disappoint him.

"You misunderstand. Alex Krycek is part of the British delegation; he's here guarding Sir Mark Brydon's son."

George walked over to her filing cabinet and found the relevant paperwork. Setting it down in front of Skinner she returned to her seat and waited. Skinner was staring at the file like it was about to bite him.

"They're making a mistake," he mumbled.

George hoped not. While their stonewalling had got on her last nerve during her investigation of the dead soldier she rather liked the Ambassador and his 'Councillor for External Affairs'. There weren't many men she would help cover up a murder for, but then the situation had been extraordinary and she had come to be glad that they had been as closed-mouthed as they had. She could read between the lines easily enough and what she saw there had scared her more than she liked to admit.

Skinner pushed the file back towards her unopened. "You want him back on the streets - you release him. But check his record out first and decide if that is really what you want to do," he growled. "He might have immunity now but he didn't back then. Excuse me."

She let him go. No one liked having a collar pulled out from under them, especially one they wanted so badly. She pulled Krycek's record up quickly, wanting to know what she was heading into when she went down to deal with Skinner's agents. They deserved that much at least. Ten minutes later she sighed and closed it again with a sinking feeling in her gut. Russian double agents and British spies? It sounded like Skinner's agent wasn't so far from the truth after all. He was right, she didn't want to let Krycek go but there wasn't any evidence to charge him and holding him when he had diplomatic immunity was asking for more trouble than it was worth. Brocklehurst owed her big for this.


	7. FBI Headquarters, Washington

The occupants of the interrogation room regarded her closely as she walked in. Only one of the three seemed to recognise who she was, an instinctive sharpening of posture in the presence of a senior agent. The FBI was changing but it was still a boy's game which made it easy to identify Agent Scully in return. That would make the two remaining men Agent Mulder and Alex Krycek. If it hadn't been for their relative positions she would have been hard pressed to differentiate them; smartly dressed, clean shaven and professional. She could almost see the slightly tarnished 'made in Quantico' labels stamped on their respective butts and wondered how much of that image was a lie as she studied Krycek. The young man, and he was still comparatively young, sat demurely at the interrogation table, long eyelashes lowered, skin pale against the dark material of his well-cut, and now slightly rumpled, suit and pink lips pursed. It was hard to believe that butter would melt in his mouth, let alone that he had caused as much mayhem and grief as was claimed. George didn't doubt for a minute that he had done everything and more.

Scully approached her quickly, heading her off before she could talk, with any ease, to Mulder directly. It was a nice move, protecting her partner from officialdom and giving him those few more precious moments with the suspect which could make or break a case. Not that it was likely to make a difference with their particular, and particularly intransigent, prisoner.

"Deputy Director Blake," Scully's voice held both respect and concern, "I'm Special Agent Scully. That's my partner, Mulder. How may we help you?"

"Alex Krycek," George said simply. Both women flicked glances at the man in question.

"I don't understand." George could see the words were a lie even before Scully said them. She had been expecting this, expecting someone to come and take their prisoner away from them probably from the moment they had brought him in. It had only been Skinner's delay in coming to her and her own in checking up on Krycek's file that had left the man in their custody as long as it had. They should have hidden him better if they wanted to keep him, but that had never been an option and in all likelihood they knew it as well.

"Suspicion of Terrorism?" George raised an eyebrow. They both knew what that really meant. "I assume I am not looking at Al-Qaeda's latest convert and I'm having trouble picturing him as a brother of the Aryan Nation, especially after he handed you and your partner that white supremacist militia on a plate, so what have you got?"

"He was implicated in the murder of my sister," Scully said tightly.

That had been in the file; suspect in the death of Melissa Scully, suspect in the death of William Mulder, the disappearance of a cable car operator... the list went on. Unfortunately of the only two deaths they could actually prove he was involved with, one was as a Federal Agent and the board had cleared it as a good shot, and the other was one of the right-wing home-growns he had sold out. They might have made that stick but the man had taken it into his head to run when the FBI raided and Krycek claimed he must have smelt a rat when Krycek tried to stop him - self-defence and the added confusion of his being an informant. No one was going to bring that prosecution, especially not after the forensic evidence got mislabelled and accidentally destroyed.

If Scully and her partner had something more then George was eager to hear it; they'd still have to cut the bastard loose but with something substantial they could start official proceedings.

"And you have proof of that?" she asked.

"No," Scully admitted reluctantly, "he was named by the shooter but there was no physical evidence to tie him to the scene."

"And the shooter?" As if they didn't both know the answer.

"Dead," Scully confirmed.

George pasted on her blankest expression. "So you have no evidence to support that accusation."

They probably hadn't even asked Krycek about the death. It wasn't as if he was suddenly going to confess. Scully opened her mouth to argue the point but George shook her head.

"Maybe we should take this outside," she suggested. Krycek was watching them closely, a certain malicious amusement slowly creeping into his expression at the frustration of the two agents in front of her. It would serve the smug bastard right if she left him to the mercy of Mulder and Scully and whoever else was after him. "Why don't you get your partner?"

Scully gestured to Mulder and he wandered over, shooting suspicious glances at Krycek as he went.

"Shall we," Blake indicated the door.

She heard Scully's whisper of her name as they left but pretended not to.

"Why did Krycek ask for you, Agent Blake?" Mulder demanded as soon as the door shut behind them.

She could see the faint sheen of contempt in his face. He thought she had sold out, although who to she wasn't sure. She hadn't backed down when Skinner had come to see her; she certainly wasn't about to for Fox Mulder of the X-Files.

"Because he's part of a case I'm involved with," George told them.

She expected to see the same flawed hope in Mulder's face that she had seen in Skinner's. It was there but muted by something she couldn't quite put her finger on. He wanted Krycek. It was not the desire for justice that drove Scully or the personal vendetta that drove Skinner, although both of those motives were definitely there, but something much more muddy and complicated.

"You may not be aware but there have been some serious threats made against the son of the British Ambassador," George told them quietly. Mulder automatically looked back towards the interrogation room, a slightly puzzled expression on his face. Skinner had thought it fit Krycek's M.O., Mulder was apparently less sure.

"You think Krycek is involved with the threats?" Scully asked. She looked worried, probably realising that they might have fucked up another agent's case.

"Only in preventing them from being carried out." The two agents stared at her in shock. "He's a member of staff at the British Embassy and here on a diplomatic _British_ passport as part of their security team."

"He's a terrorist!" Scully objected. She flashed a glance at Mulder, George read it as a query as to why she was making the arguments when Mulder was the one who had brought the subject in.

"Not on any watch list I've seen," George snapped, "or is there a separate list for Special Agents that, as a Deputy Director, I am not privy to?"

"No," Scully conceded.

"Can you show me anything," George stressed the word, "that even suggests that Alex Krycek is here for any reason other than what the British claim?"

Scully looked away. They had nothing and as much as she wanted to back her partner up she knew it. It was an unpleasant situation and George didn't envy Scully in the slightest. That type of loyalty was to be respected, even if it was misplaced. Which George wasn't convinced it was.

"Immunity doesn't extend to past crimes," Mulder drawled. "Maybe we should tell the British exactly what sort of man they hired and see if they still want him."

Did Mulder honestly think that they didn't know? It was probably the reason that they had hired him. And why Nicholas had mentioned it to her. If Mulder pushed the issue it was a diplomatic incident waiting to happen and there had been more than enough of those already. George silently cursed all well-mannered British spies who spoke prettily while they said nothing and got her into these situations. At Mulder's mulish expression she added stubborn FBI agents to the list as well.

"Putting any unsubstantiated," George pronounced the word carefully, "past crimes aside, which, Agents, is all you have given me... why did you bring him in?"

"He was trying to interfere with our case," Mulder said as if it should have been obvious.

"What case?"

Mulder and Scully looked at each other.

It was Mulder who answered, "Frogmen."

"Mulder," Scully warned quietly.

Mulder shot her a quick annoyed look. "It's a missing persons case with apparent paranormal..."

"Ritualistic," Scully corrected,

"elements," Mulder finished, ignoring the interruption. "It had links to some old, unsolved cases in Innsmouth. We tracked down someone who we thought might have information."

For two people as close as the two agents in front of her seemed to be, they sure bickered a lot. Maybe that was what made them so strong as a team. Sibling contention was something George had all but moved to Washington to get away from, but she still missed the unwavering support that flesh and blood could also give. Irish Catholic backgrounds made for large families and 'no one beats up my little brother but me' was practically the motto in hers.

"Suspect?" she asked. It wasn't her case and it wasn't her place to get involved but if the disappearances were in any way linked to the threats on Azzam then she needed to know. She trusted Nicholas as far as one could trust a member of another country's secret services, so about as far as she could see him. She didn't hold it against him most of the time, he was just doing his job, but it got irritating when he didn't always share as much as she might want with local law enforcement, namely her. She couldn't see how scuba divers fitted in to anything but it was a long way from a dead body being fished out of a river in Virginia to a massacre in a marketplace in Tyrgyztan. The partners conferred in the silent way that they had and she waited to see what conclusion they would come to.

"Witness," Mulder insisted and Scully nodded although with a slightly sceptical expression which suggested to George that she was agreeing against her better judgement.

George didn't envy Skinner having to deal with the report that would eventually end up on his desk. "And?" she prompted.

"We tracked the possible witness down to the hospital. It was taking some time to interview him as he wasn't being co-operative." Mulder looked personally offended at the man's unwillingness to confide in him. "While we were there we spotted Krycek skulking around."

"So you thought he might be involved in..." George cast around for any logical conclusion that they could have drawn, "suborning his testimony?"

She could see from the knee-jerk reaction in his face that in his mind he had been there and that Krycek had been there so there must be a connection; the realisation that arrogance and Occam's razor are occasionally indistinguishable and the reasonable doubt warring in his mind with his unreasonable history with Krycek.

"Did you check with the British Embassy as to his itinerary? Find out what he was doing there?" No, of course they hadn't. "Would you like me to do that now?"

Mulder shook his head, eyes shuttered and angry. "They'll just make up some reasonable sounding excuse," he said bitterly.

Not totally naive then. That was the voice of experience talking if ever George had heard it. She almost felt sorry for him but sorry was for agents who thought about the consequences of their actions and the amount of inconvenience it caused the rest of the bureau.

"So you had no real reason to bring him in?" She knew she was being overly harsh but they were getting nowhere.

"He assaulted a federal agent," Scully put in.

George waited.

"He handcuffed me to a radiator," Mulder admitted reluctantly, "when I tried to take him into custody at the hospital."

"You were trying to illegally detain him," George pointed out. "Do you really want to make a case over him cuffing you, with your own cuffs," Scully's inability to keep looking at them confirmed that aspect, "rather than letting you bring him in for questioning, which you had no right to do? You may like being a laughing stock, Agent Mulder, but I'd appreciate it if you didn't involve the rest of the agency."

"He was acting erratically," Mulder muttered. There was a sulky look in his eyes, like a child being told off for something they didn't believe was their fault.

"What do you mean?"

Mulder gestured vaguely. "He wasn't making sense."

He'd brought Krycek in, interrogated him for hours because he _wasn't_ talking sense? The defiant look was back. He knew how it sounded and he didn't care. Krycek obviously made sense to Mulder. Whatever tales he span and lies he told, and George was sure he had told many, Mulder expected the man to make sense. That was... interesting, if unhelpful.

"Was he violent towards you, beyond the incident with the handcuffs?" George ran through the standard questions. "Did he threaten you in any way?"

Reluctantly Mulder shook his head. "Not this time."

"Did he do anything else?"

Mulder flushed and George would have been willing to lay money on the fact that he was blushing slightly.

"No," he said shortly.

Well that was a lie, but if Mulder didn't want to talk there wasn't much George could do about it and she was beginning to think that pushing the matter would be a very bad idea.

"Agent Scully?" she asked for formalities' sake.

Scully looked embarrassed as she shot an apologetic little glance at her partner. "I didn't actually see Krycek myself."

From the blush, George was beginning to wonder exactly how Krycek had managed to get Mulder in the handcuffs, because he sure as hell had been doing something other than talking strangely. The bad feeling that she had about the whole situation intensified. She'd been hoping that Scully could at least vouch for Mulder's conduct.

She looked from one to the other, feeling oddly defeated. These were agents from her bureau; she had hoped for better from them. "Please tell me this isn't all you have?"

"He's part of a conspiracy," Mulder insisted, a sudden and reckless passion driving his words, "one that reaches all aspects of the government. He has information vital to exposing it."

That was probably true enough. Hell, Krycek's file practically had 'black ops' written between every line. It stank.

"Last time I checked we are supposed to be catching the people who want to bring down the government - not making it easier for them by trying to do it ourselves, Agent Mulder."

Against her will she was beginning to feel a little less hostile towards Krycek, working with Mulder must have been an exercise in frustration. While she had frequently damned anyone involved in black ops straight to the hell where they would all eventually end up, if extreme measures were sanctioned then she had to believe that the democratically elected government she represented were doing what was necessary to protect their country. It wasn't perfect, it wasn't even close to good, but how could she act as an agent of the FBI if she believed otherwise. Even if it was worth reminding them on a frequent basis that just because they were helping run 'one nation under God', it did not make them God themselves.

It was time to end it. "You have nothing to hold him on and there aren't any warrants out against him - we're cutting him loose."

For a moment George wasn't sure if Mulder looked happy or sad at the prospect.


	8. FBI Headquarters, Washington

Alex looked up as the door to the interrogation room opened, interrupting Mulder's rant on Alex's moral shortcomings and what sort of end he was destined to meet. Not that Alex necessarily disagreed with Mulder's conclusion that he would meet an abrupt and violent death; he'd worked that out years ago and he hadn't needed Mulder's supposed genius as a profiler to do so. However, being yelled at and threatened never put him in the most co-operative of moods. He just amused himself remembering what Mulder had looked like when he was yelling for a wholly different reason or blanking out the words and focussing on Mulder's mouth and how those plump lips had looked wrapped around his cock. Not exactly highbrow but it passed the time and it was much better than listening to the man futilely repeat himself.

The newcomer into their little farce could have been any one of the anonymous FBI drones that buzzed around the hallowed halls but there was something in the way that Scully tensed that told Alex that something was about to happen. Whoever had just entered was important. She didn't look like much, Irish roots showing in naturally red hair, blue eyes and the associated pale complexion. However, on closer inspection, the error of dismissing her so easily was apparent in her quiet confidence and the sharp gaze with which she took in everything in the room. There was a strength to her that suggested that while she might not live up to the feisty stereotype that her heritage had cursed her with, she was not a pushover either.

Mulder let Scully deal with the interloper. Alex didn't bother to hide his smirk. The FBI obviously had an affirmative action program when it came to small, spunky redheads. If this was the result then, for the sake of the country, Alex heartily approved. He just wanted to know where he could place his bet as the two women spoke quietly but intensely. By the unhappy, stiff look on Scully's face, Alex gathered that she didn't like whatever she was hearing but she seemed to be putting up a spirited defence.

Alex cast a quick glance at Mulder who had been distracted enough that he forgot he was lowering at Alex and kept shooting the women glances instead. Maybe Mulder could be prompted into getting a few stills from the security film for his own use if the dispute got any more heated. Alex could always break in and retrieve them. Alex realised he was obviously looking disreputable again from the disgusted look Mulder shot him. As if Mulder hadn't been thinking exactly the same thing that Alex had. Alex met Mulder's look with an unrepentant challenge of his own. To Alex's great amusement, Mulder looked away, flushing slightly. He really needed to get arrested by the FBI more often, it was almost better than pay-per-view. His expression slipped in to something closer to a smile; he really had been around Owen too long.

Scully beckoned Mulder over and he joined them reluctantly. Alex waited for the explosion. Mulder had never really been one for subtlety when it came to interaction with the bureaucracy. That was what Scully was for. Scully, and Alex during that brief period when he was both Mulder's FBI and Consortium sanctioned partner. To his disappointment the expected disruption failed to happen. Instead the three agents traipsed out of the room, Mulder throwing Alex one last, mistrustful look as he left. Alex thought about waving but decided it was premature, despite Mulder's apparent insecurity as to whether Alex would still be there when he returned or whether he would vanish as soon as Mulder's back was turned; he wasn't out yet. He didn't know if it was courtesy or just good sense that decided that the three agents wouldn't have an argument in front of the prisoner. Although if Alex was reading things right he wouldn't be a prisoner for much longer.

The discussion took enough time that Alex had begun to sweat slightly. Maybe he had been mistaken and the woman was a Consortium plant and didn't have his best interests at heart. Trusting in others to get him out of trouble was something that didn't come easily to him and it made him tetchy. He had lived by betrayal and, while he wasn't religious, he believed that there was a proverb that was unfortunately applicable to his situation. The plans automatically began to shape themselves in his head. If she was Consortium then her first priority would be to find out what he had told them; after that it would depend how badly they wanted him dead and whether they wanted him to suffer first.

Alex closed his eyes and leant back in the hard chair. He'd wanted to visit Bora Bora ever since a random postcard from the place had turned up at the tourist office. Sun, sea, sand and sex on the beach... the thought gave him a goal to keep himself alive for. As if he needed the extra impetus.

The door opening broke him out of his reverie. The red-head led the return, Mulder and Scully trailing at her heals sullenly.

"The devil looks after his own, eh, Krycek?" Mulder commented with bitter humour as he slouched against the wall where Alex would have to pass close by him to leave.

Alex gave his most cherubic smile. Mulder didn't seem happy but that offered him no real clues as to his continued life-expectancy. Mulder had never really learnt to concede with grace, which was unfortunate given the amount of practice he got.

"Mulder," Scully warned him. Alex could have told her not to bother, it wouldn't make any difference, but he figured she knew that.

Mulder shot her a disgruntled look which she met with patience and a flick of her eyes towards their companion. The other woman ignored the exchange.

"Mr. Krycek, I'm Special Agent Blake," she began. "I understand that these agents brought you in unaware of the position you currently hold within the British Embassy and that you did not make them aware of this fact?"

So this _was_ Nicholas' supposed contact. That was an encouraging sign, as was the question. A Consortium plant would be unlikely to bother with such details. Even Skinner wouldn't have, but then he would know Alex wouldn't be about to cause official trouble, not when he could do much worse, and make his point more completely, by causing unofficial trouble. He tried to work out what it meant for Mulder and Scully that Agent Blake appeared to be trying to cover over any irregularities on the parts of the agents as if Alex might bring a complaint.

"That's correct," Alex admitted.

George, and she wasn't anything like Alex would have imagined given the name, Blake waited until it was clear that Alex wasn't going to elaborate.

"Is there any particular reason that you did not make them aware that you had diplomatic immunity?"

Everyone in the room knew it wouldn't have made any difference whatever he'd said but it was a clever fiction and he was willing to play along. He didn't think she was deliberately trying to trap him, just doing her job as she saw it.

Alex gave his most winning smile, "Given the nature of my assignment and the investigation that is being undertaken by law enforcement agencies in both Britain and America, I was told to make contact with you if I was brought in."

It was meaningless but it sounded right and that was all that mattered. George didn't approve of him, Alex could see that, but she didn't have Mulder's crusading zeal for uncovering the truth at any cost, especially when the cost was to fellow agents. He could even have argued with his conscience, should he have had one, that the truth was little more than he had said. If the twisted past he had with Mulder could ever be described as little; what Mulder remembered was certainly small enough. What was, what had been and what might be aside, George would let it, and him, go even though she didn't like it. There was something almost ironical in being in a room with three people, two of whom would shoot him without batting an eyelash if they thought it was necessary, yet neither of them was the person who looked at him with something so close to hate as to be indistinguishable. In that moment, Alex decided he had had enough. Any amusement he had found in the situation was rapidly palling.

He looked George in the eyes, deliberately excluding everyone else in the room from their conversation.

"I spent the whole of yesterday from 6am until late evening with either the British Ambassador, Sir Mark Brydon, members of his staff or his son Azzam Sinclair and his associated security detail. This information can be confirmed through the embassy. If there is nothing else then I have to be getting back."

George nodded slowly. The muted sound of objection echoed behind but he held George's attention. He couldn't tell if she believed him or not, although he suspected she did. She would confirm his story for herself, because she was a good agent, not because she doubted that it would be confirmed.

"Thank you for your co-operation, Mr. Krycek," George said with only the slightest trace of satire, "Shall we?"

She gestured towards the door and its uneven guardians. Alex was only too happy to oblige.

"So, should I call you 'Benedict' now?" Mulder taunted quietly, but not quietly enough, as he passed.

George and Scully gave him almost identical quelling looks but it was George who spoke. "Do I need to remind you again that the British are our allies, Agent Mulder?"

Alex didn't know what had been said when the agents withdrew, but that was either the final confirmation that he had Nicholas to thank for his continued liberty, or the agent was playing a very dangerous double bluff.

"I'm not the one you need to remind. You might want to explain to Mister," Mulder emphasised the honorific in such a way that it was anything but, "Krycek that 'ally' doesn't mean someone you haven't betrayed yet."

In Alex's opinion, Mulder's definition showed a rather naive view of politics but felt that it wasn't the time, or the place, to share his thoughts on the matter. He took a step closer to Mulder, feeling the tension rise in the room as everyone prepared for the worst.

"Don't worry, tovarish," Alex purred, "I know you will be watching my every move."

Mulder flushed, hands fisting.

Alex turned away before Mulder could respond or anyone could intervene. He'd made his point. If Mulder wanted to follow up on his challenge then Alex had a few ideas and Mulder might just end up learning more about himself than he was comfortable with. George gave him a hard look and he followed her obediently, knowing as he trotted at her heals like a puppy that his easy submission was irritating the hell out of Mulder. He suspected that George knew it too from the amused twinkle in her eye that she was doing her best to hide. Mulder must have made his normal good impression.

"Do svidaniya, Fox," he said over his shoulder as he walked out. There was a choking sound from behind him but he refused to look back and see which of them it had come from.

George led him towards the main entrance. It felt strange to stand in the glass portico again. The guards were not the same as the ones he had used to walk past in his days as a junior agent but then he wasn't that man anymore either. Just before the door they stopped, George looking at him seriously. Alex prepared himself for the standard speech and schooled his features into the appropriate expression.

"I hope I am not going to see you again, Mr. Krycek, in a professional capacity. But I doubt that will be the case." Alex nodded insincerely. "I realise that that will likely not be by your choice. I don't think Agent Mulder is going to give up, do you?"

A part of Alex certainly hoped not. Unfortunately, it was a part he tried not to let do his thinking for him.

"Mulder can be a little single-minded on occasion," Alex agreed. "Determination can be an attractive quality in a special agent."

"An interesting turn of phrase." George's gaze sharpened but her tone remained conversational. "I saw the way you were looking at Agent Mulder. The only reason you weren't undressing him with your eyes was because you weren't imagining him in anything to start with. From the way he was blowing hot and cold towards you I'd say you had a pretty good idea of what the view would be like." Alex started to make the expected denial but George held up her hand to stop him. "For all our sakes I'm going to assume that that was long before anything happened that might be seen to compromise his position. He's right - there are things missing from the files, but whoever is covering your butt did a very good job of it and neither he nor I can prove anything. So, answer one question for me..." Alex looked at the woman warily. "Nicholas and Sir Mark?"

The wariness turned to suspicion. Was she honestly asking him if they were the ones who had tinkered with his files. "What about them?"

"Well, are they or aren't they?"

"What?" Alex stared at her in surprise. He could see she thought it was an act.

"Your Mr. Brocklehurst might not be taking out adverts in The Advocate but it isn't exactly a state secret that the most a girl can hope for is a good dinner and intelligent company and the rumours about Sir Mark arrived before he did." That was news to Alex but, thinking over his time at the embassy, it wasn't really a surprise either. Or maybe Torchwood had just broken his surprise response when it came to such things. "Of course," Blake continued, oblivious to his straying thoughts, "no one really paid any attention until a rather nice young Englishman came to stay for the best part of a month for a reason no one at the Embassy was willing to talk about. I know that doesn't mean anything, I don't mean to imply that it does, but watching the two of them work together... there's just something under all that stiff upper lip professionalism."

It was definitely an interesting theory, and an appealing one in many ways (including the aesthetic; Alex wasn't blind or dead). Alex turned it over in his head, comparing it against the nuances of interaction that he had witnessed. Finding the arguments for and against and weighing them against the possible truth. Jane Lavery, whom he had only heard spoke of, against the strange feeling he had got when he had first seen Mark and Nicholas interact. Working with Jack made it very easy to forget the subtleties of hidden sexual interaction. There was just something so uninhibited about his manner that everyone in proximity reacted to, mostly positively. Even Ianto, whose delivery tended towards the deadpan so arid that the dust of his words fell between the cracks in the conversation and was only noticed at a later time, responded in kind.

_The rumours were still doing the rounds_

_At least you look less like a rent boy than the last one_

_He works for Torchwood_

"This young man, are you sure he was English?" Alex asked as one mystery solved itself.

"That was what everyone said," George assured him. "Trust me, this is a city built on gossip and the young man's accent was a hotter topic than the Middle East."

A city of people whose voices were heard throughout the world and they had got their panties in a bunch over a few lilting vowels. Most of them didn't even deal with the foreigners they imported, let alone travel beyond their own borders far enough to sample the rich variety of accents and languages that were the chorus of the world. It was both depressing and typical that a variation on English was both close enough to be unthreatening and different enough to be exotic.

"He couldn't have been Welsh?" He'd been living in Cardiff long enough that the accent was something common to him now. Jack still claimed to get a kick from listening to Ianto talk but Alex suspected that it was a more personal than general thing.

"Could have been. There's a difference?"

Alex let a smile grow on his face, the one that was gently amused at other people's foibles and invited his audience to join him in that feeling.

"So he assures me. He's a colleague of mine." He owed Nicholas one. "Came over here after his girlfriend was killed." He let George draw her own conclusions.

"Damn," she said quietly. Shrugging, she smiled ruefully. "Well, there goes a favourite theory."

"On the basis of that evidence, I'd have to agree with you."

Because it was all about what you could prove, wasn't it? And there would no more be any proof that Mark and Nicholas were anything more than work colleagues than there would about his work for the Consortium.

Blake looked at him shrewdly. "Is there other evidence?"

That was always the question: had you left any trace? People might know, or believe they knew, but if you hadn't even left your fingerprints in the air then it hadn't happened. Unless you were one of the people it hadn't happened to.

"When I worked here with Agent Mulder I was taught three things," Alex told her. "The first was how to fill in paperwork and the second was the impossibility of proving a negative."

She would understand that and he had no better answer for her. Even if he knew what she was asking then he wouldn't have told her and she would have been a fool to believe him. George Blake might have been many things but Alex did not think a fool was one of them.

"What was the third?" George asked curiously.

Alex's smile melted from his face. Meeting her eyes he told her honestly, "Deny everything."

"I can see why you and Nicholas get along," she said dryly. "Okay, Mr. Krycek, let's get you back to the Embassy before I start getting irate calls from the Ambassador."

She put out her hand for him to shake and he did.

"Thank you, Special Agent Blake." Alex found he actually meant the worn out pleasantry.

"Oh and Krycek." There was no hostility in her face and Alex thought he was growing on her. "Tell Brocklehurst he owes me a good dinner. Again."

With that she turned and walked back into the depths of the building.


	9. British Embassy, Washington

He missed Mulder. It was a fact that Alex didn't like to face, but every time they met up he was forcibly reminded of it. As if for all the unpalatable information Mulder tried to extract from him, he gave this one answer back in return. The hate had been there again, something that had become more common as the years had gone on and Mulder's brain had got increasingly scrambled. Alex didn't know why he had expected anything else. Maybe it had just been hope that the retcon had failed even though he knew Ianto was too good at his job for that. Maybe it had been the misleading ease with which Mulder had turned to him in Cardiff. But it would have been nice, seeing the look of lust and trust in Mulder's eyes like it used to be. Although these days he would settle for just the lust. Stretching out in his bed Alex reached for his cock and let himself think of Mulder...

_He can feel the cool bite of handcuffs around each of his wrists, binding his arms together behind the back of his chair. Mulder stalks around him, all attitude and repression. Adrenaline and desire tightens Alex's balls and causes his cock to rise. Part of him wants Mulder to notice but the other part fears the power which Mulder would gain over him with that knowledge. He will give up information to Mulder only when he has to, and his arousal is a more dangerous secret than any he knows about the little grey men of Mulder's obsession._

_As Mulder comes parallel with the side of the chair he grabs Alex's hair, wrenching his head back and taking his mouth in a punishing kiss. Even when Mulder permits him to breathe again the hand remains, weaving through the short locks to keep him in place, neck stretched open. Alex knows Mulder can see the bob in his throat as he swallows but cannot stop the automatic response any more than he can stop the swelling at his groin. Mulder's open mouth against the side of his neck has a threatening quality and as Mulder licks a path over his carotid artery Alex wonders if Mulder can feel the speeding pulse therein. Moving his lips away, Mulder traces a line with his tongue over Alex's neck twisting his captive's head to allow passage across the exposed windpipe. The chill trail left behind is so reminiscent of a knife blade that Alex shivers. Mulder's teeth clamping around the column of his throat shock him to stillness. He fights the urge to pant, feeling the silver bands of panic constrict his lungs. He arches his neck a tiny bit further, all that the position allows, offering Mulder his throat._

_Mulder steps back, pushing Alex away as far as he can while Alex is bound. The metal of the cuffs digs into Alex's wrists and the back of the chair presses into his upper arm hard enough to bruise before he can check his body's motion. He turns his head to glare at Mulder but only receives a satisfied smile in return. Mulder knows he has him, the cat with its pinned prey, and clearly plans to play awhile._

_Mulder roughly pinches Alex's right nipple through his T-shirt and Alex flinches. Apparently enjoying the response, Mulder repeats the action on the other side. Alex's cock jumps with each bruising twist, the momentary pain settling into an infusing warmth that spreads from his chest to every part of his body. The material of the T-shirt which had seemed so smooth when he put it on that morning rubs against the sensitive skin as if it has been transformed into burlap. Each movement, each brush of air, sends prickles of sensation through him even after Mulder moves on. Alex watches Mulder as he stalks around him, fingers running over chest, shoulders, neck and face, turning Alex's head as he brushes over cheek and lips. Alex spreads his lips in invitation but that just earns him a warning slap and a disgusted look. Mulder knows what Alex is like and isn't about to let him get away with anything. Mulder steps away and Alex feels bereft. He wants to beg and plead for Mulder to come back but he knows he has jeopardised any future attention and any such action will only hurt his cause. He tries to look contrite because he doesn't want Mulder to leave him like this._

_It's enough. Mulder steps forward and rewards Alex's submission with a kiss. Alex has learnt his lesson and doesn't try to deepen the benediction any further than he's allowed. Slowly, Mulder licks Alex's lips open, exploring his mouth with possessive thoroughness. This is what he needs; he and Mulder are each other's entire world._

_Without breaking the kiss, Mulder reaches between Alex's legs and squeezes the bulge of his erection. Alex's howl is lost in Mulder's mouth, bitten off by Mulder's teeth. Every instinct he has is to push into that tight grip. But he doesn't. Alex accepts he will beg if Mulder will just give him permission to. He will beg, kill or scream, whatever Mulder wants from him. All he wants is for Mulder to use him. He aches for the feel of Mulder's cock driving into his body. He doesn't care how; mouth, ass... Mulder can cut his heart out and fuck the resulting cavity for all he cares, just so long as he gets to feel it in those few minutes before he dies._

_If Alex had any sense left he would be embarrassed by the needy moan that escapes as Mulder undoes his trousers. Freed, his erection springs up, the metal teeth of his fly kissing the sensitive skin in mocking goodbye. Mulder's touch on his cock is careful, meditative, another torture. There is no hope for reprieve; not that Alex wants any release beyond the sexual._

_Across the interrogation room and paying Mulder's actions no attention are Scully and George. Red on red, hair tangling as they kiss; sexy in their strength and confidence. Slender fingers becoming visible in flashes as if they themselves were something special to be hidden from the public eye rather than the places to which they dive. Alex licks his dry lips as suits are pushed askew and the lace trim of underwear is revealed. Dark lipstick smudging on pale skin like splashes of port against a fine tablecloth. Alex can feel the hot breath against his ear as Mulder watches the two women, idly playing with Alex as if he stands proxy for Mulder's own self-pleasure..._

Alex reined the fantasy in and dismissed the two ladies to their own devices, not feeling like sharing Mulder's attention even in his own mind. He didn't begrudge the relationship that Mulder and Scully had; she kept him safe when Alex couldn't, but he begrudged that their relationship existed unmolested when his and Mulder's had been repeatedly destroyed.

Maybe another night he would dust off a few dirty ideas involving her or George or both of the female agents, ideas that either woman would probably shoot him for having. Alex smirked. Given her question earlier, Alex felt he was justified in wondering if George had had a few dirty thoughts of her own where he was concerned. There would be a certain irony in Mulder and he having a better sex life in her head than in reality. Although not as much as if it were Scully's secret turn on. He squeezed his cock slightly at the thought, testing his reaction to the idea of Scully and her favourite vibrator getting together over hot images of Mulder and himself. Intriguing, but...

He stroked himself idly as his thoughts drifted through his normal repertoire: Mulder and him on a case... rescuing Mulder... being rescued by Mulder... Mulder at his mercy... Nothing grabbed him. Normally, Alex found that the idea of fucking some sense into Mulder, even if he had to hold him down or put a gun to his head first, was a surefire fallback option. The idea of doing something like that outside the confine of his own head left him limper than an overcooked noodle but inside... inside his mind there was something terribly satisfying in overcoming Mulder's objections until he finally saw things Alex's way. Which he always did. Not that Mulder ever actually said 'no', just like he never said 'no' to the Mulder in his mind no matter what was done to him in return. Alex wasn't sure what that said about him.

It wasn't that violence turned him on, nor did he like Mulder hitting him in real life. It wasn't guilt, he knew that much and beyond that he refused to analyse it, but somehow, in his fantasies, it worked for him most of the time. It just looked like it was going to be one of those rare times when it didn't. He was hard, turned on and more than ready but it wasn't going anywhere. What he needed was a new scenario. Something different...

_Fox kissing him, lips full and luscious under his own. His wrists are cuffed but they are comfortable; whatever Fox used is soft and forgiving even as it restricts him. He opens his eyes reluctantly, taking in the plain nothingness of the world that surrounds him. They are not alone; behind Fox is Jack, naked except for blindfold and cuffs, and on his knees. Ianto, seated in front of him on a chair a mirror to Alex's own, wearing the suit that he stopped wearing at work_ (_because Jack kept walking into things_) _open at the groin. Or so Alex assumes as Jack's head is nestling between Ianto's spread thighs. His fingers curl through Jack's short hair, carefully guiding Jack's mouth to where he wants it at any given moment. All the while Ianto describes what is happening around them, weaving a vivid image for Jack with hypnotic, lilting words. Alex can practically feel the heated caress of Ianto's gaze as it roams over them - taking in every detail to tantalise Jack with._

_Even as Fox moves closer, blocking Alex's view of the two other men and Ianto's of him, Alex can sense the continued interest. Fox undoes each shirt button slowly, making a show of it for Alex's eyes alone. His tie keeps the neck together but the front of his shirt gapes open giving Alex brief but gradually increasing glimpses of his chest, muddy-pink nipples and light dusting of hair framed by the pale material. Alex moistens his lips, wanting the taste of Fox. Fox pulls the tails of his shirt free. It hangs modestly around him, held closed by the noose of material under his collar. It is one of his better ties, one that Alex gave to him, and the Escher design cobwebs down it in subtle complexity. Loosening the knot, Mulder slips the shirt off underneath it and drops the unwanted garment to the floor. He is naked from the waist up except for the arrow of material which points straight to his groin._

_Fox's fingers stray over the revealed skin, shaping the planes of his chest then down, always down, sliding over the abdomen, the belly that will never grow more rounded in Alex's mind. Alex's eyes follow Fox's movements as if Fox has taken control of Alex's body. It is almost a physical jolt when the waistband of Fox's trousers stop the tantalising passage of his hands. Alex pushes down his disappointment, trusting Fox will have mercy. And he does; lowering the clasp of his trousers slowly, drawing his fly down as if that movement itself is a caress._

_With a little push, the carefully tailored cloth pools at Fox's feet; a grey puddle, as unwanted as the remnants of a night's rain. The blue ripples of Fox's boxers are almost lost within the shallow depths. A step forward and Fox leaves behind the trappings of the office._

_They study each other, Mulder naked and Alex in his jeans and leather. Alex grins, hungry for the man that has been revealed to him. Runner's body, long and lean, but running no longer. Strong cock jutting up from the dark hair at Fox's groin just as Alex remembers it, a reflection of his own need. Fox is close enough that Alex can pretend he feels the warmth of his body, close enough that Fox can reach out a finger and hold it to Alex's lips in an unmistakable demand for silence. Dragging the tip down across Alex's mouth, Fox lets it rest on the lower lip so that Alex can kiss it and, when Fox does not withdraw, suck it into his mouth. It isn't what Alex really wants but the action makes his erection jump and his balls ache. A second finger and Alex can almost believe the hardness in his mouth is something else. He could come from just this if he let himself but he wants more. As if reading his mind, Fox reaches down with his free hand and opens Alex's fly. Carefully he frees Alex's erection from its cloth prison, running interrogatory fingers along its length in conjunction with his thrusts into Alex's mouth._

_Alex releases Fox's fingers, spit-slicked and glistening. Fox's eyes are shining, dark with his own desire. Reaching behind himself, Fox begins to fuck himself with his fingers. For a moment the shift of Fox's body gives Alex a glimpse of Ianto, eyes fixed on Fox's backside as he describes the scene to his lover. He might not be able to see what Ianto does, but Alex watches the effects of Fox's arousal as they blossom across his skin. The slight flush like a false dawn across the desert, the nipples hardening to tempting peaks and the jump of his dick with each thrust of his fingers, pre-come beginning to polish the head to a moist shine._

_Straddling Alex on the chair Fox positions himself carefully and lowers himself onto Alex's waiting cock. Fox's sigh as he settles himself ghosts over Alex's skin like it's caressing his soul. Alex wants to touch, to take Fox's mouth with his, to feel Fox's warm skin under his hands, to hear the steady beat of Fox's heart as he presses his head to Fox's chest. But this is Fox's show and Alex's hands are tied._

_Fox leans forward, taking Alex's face in both hands and kisses him, sweet and long. Even after he pulls back, he cups Alex's face with his right hand, stroking his thumb over the arch of Alex's cheek and they study each other. Alex had forgotten how many colours merge in the hazel of Mulder's eyes, a child's finger-paint swirls that somehow come together into a beautiful whole. He doesn't know what Fox sees when he looks at him but the softness of Fox's expression and the small smile make him smile in return at the wonder of it all. Fox's hand strokes down his neck to rest on his shoulder, an extra point of balance as Fox starts to move. Thighs gripping tight around Alex's legs and hips, Fox raises himself as he rocks. Alex tips his head back, eyes closed and hips pushing up as much as his position allows. Mulder is like hot silk around his cock, the only point of skin-to-skin contact he is being allowed. He spreads his legs slightly, forcing Fox closer to his body, forcing himself deeper as Fox sinks down._

_The loose end of Fox's tie tickles across Alex's stomach as Fox moves, a collar and leash that Alex wants to take hold of, to pull Fox forward into a kiss or tighten to see the dark flash in his lover's eyes as the blood pounds in his head and the breath catches in his throat. Even without those embellishments Fox is beautiful, free and wild; a renaissance saint finding ecstasy in his own martyrdom and crying not to God but to his earthly persecutor for more. He fists his cock with the hand not resting on Alex's shoulder, the ragged movement an ecstatic complement as he fucks himself._

_The frisson of knowing that Ianto is watching them shivers through Alex. From where he is sitting, Ianto must be able to see Alex's cock sliding in and out of Fox's ass as he moves on Alex. He can half-hear Ianto relaying the information to Jack; detailing each moan, each flex of muscular buttocks, each slide of skin on skin. Ianto makes them sound good together, wanton, joined, his voice rough with excitement where it has once been smooth._

_Fox moves faster, driving himself towards completion and trusting Alex to stay with him. His breath comes in grunting pants, blind to aesthetic considerations in his single-mindedness but Alex finds that Fox's excitement feeds his own. The touch of Fox, the weight of him, the tight heat around his cock... Alex is torn between shutting his eyes to better appreciate the sensations and relishing the captivating image in front of him. The choice is made for him as, throwing his head back in total abandon, Fox grinds down as he comes, semen smearing in damp globs across Alex's T-shirt. Alex's arousal spirals up out of his control, climbing the spasms of Fox's orgasm to its own height and bursting free. He can feel some barrier within him shatter as he pumps into Fox's willing body..._

Alex grabbed a tissue from the box beside the bed and cleaned himself up. So considerate of the embassy to have the things to hand. He had always thought that there were a lot of wankers in politics. A few echoes of his fool's paradise drifted over his mind as he moved his dick to get the last smears of semen. In general, the content of his imagination had long since ceased to worry him. Alex was a realist and the confusion of sexual fantasy and real desire was not a problem that he had. This one bothered him though. Maybe he was just getting old.

In most other professions, sport excepted, he would hardly be counted as middle-aged, let alone long in the tooth. However, spies were not Bond, getting reincarnated in a younger body when the grey hairs started getting too obvious through the Grecian 2000. The areas of espionage in which Alex had specialised were the realms of the young, idealistic and naive. None of which he was any more. Back in his double-dealing, Consortium days he'd pretty much assumed he would die while trying to save the world and, on a good day, had hoped that he would have done enough to give Mulder the key he needed. On the bad days he had thought Mulder would be the one to pull the trigger. Now his biggest concerns was whether he got mauled by a Weevil because he wasn't fast enough, or got disintegrated and spread across time, space and Cardiff because the luck most often seen around the insane and/or drunk had, for once, not saved Torchwood Three.

He was beginning to lose his edge, and the worst part was that the idea of settling down was beginning to appeal to him. Cardiff wasn't Washington, but it wasn't Siberia either. And he had more choices than puppet or puppet-master now; he just had to look around him to see that. Nicholas was embedded at the British embassy and fighting paperwork, but he was hardly off his game. A fixed position was clearly possible. Maybe it was time to let the young idiots, who didn't know better, waste themselves on international conspiracies and unidentifiable men in black while he stuck with the intergalactic lost, found and disposal and the unmissable man in blue. Maybe it was just the endorphin buzz but the idea of a future didn't sound too bad. He was hardly about to start picking out curtains, but possibly the time had come to start thinking longer term. And who he wanted that longer term to be with. Alex yawned. Plans could wait until the morning. Alex let the lethargy that had been creeping up on him enclose him and lull him into sleep. With his arrest, Nicholas had him shadowing Mark rather than Azzam, and Alex suspected he would need all his wits about him.


	10. [REDACTED] Hospital, Washington

Alex practically bounced with repressed energy as he stalked through the hospital hallway. If he had just been there. Fucking Mulder. He loved the man but sometimes he wanted to shoot him, badly. Or at least fuck some understanding into his thick head. Alex understood why Nicholas had switched their assignments. With the threat to Azzam there was no way they could risk the FBI pulling him in again when he was with the kid. Mark needed minding, but he could also raise merry hell if Mulder decided to try something - it made more sense that Alex shadowed him and Nicholas took over with the boy. No matter how logical, how right, the decision had been, what it came down to was that Alex hadn't been there when the shit went down. It wasn't that he didn't trust Nicholas' ability. The man had taken down five assailants and made sure that Azzam came out of it with little more than a grazed knee. Alex didn't know if he could have done as well. But it should have been him. And it should be him in surgery while Nicholas waited to hear the news and Mark took Azzam home. As it was, Azzam wouldn't leave until they heard about Nicholas, not that Mark was objecting to that with much conviction, and Alex had been sent to find a soda machine on the far side of the building as his restless pacing was scaring the staff.

He kept getting unhappy glances, quickly concealed, as he walked, probably for exactly the same reason that everyone was keeping out of his way. He knew how he must look and he didn't particularly care. It wouldn't do to upset people so much that they called security to remove him, and it was for that reason, or so Alex told himself, that he took a wide course around paediatrics. If that had resulted in his walking down corridors which were more populated by spiders than people then that was just good luck for all the poor unfortunates who might otherwise cross his path. The few cleaning staff and the odd nurse he passed didn't grate against his nerves or make his hand twitch for his gun in the way that the teeming halls had. Even the ever present smell of disinfectant seemed less pervasive in the relative quiet.

The sound of running feet was an unwelcome interruption. The echoing steps jumped from wall to ceiling and back, making it impossible to pinpoint the direction that they were coming from. Alex's hand was under his jacket and reaching for his gun before he realised what he was doing. He pushed down the instinct; there were many reasons that people ran in hospitals. It was probably a resident on call or someone late for their shift.

A tall, slender man who appeared at first sight to be a refugee from a Jane Austin costume party came swerving around a corner as Alex reached it and, even with the audible warning, nearly knocked Alex over in his hurry.

"So sorry," the man said politely in a clear English accent, brushing Alex's coat off unnecessarily. "Now I suggest you run."

Alex looked over the idiot's shoulder and did a double-take. What was coming down the corridor after him was not human. Alex revised his opinion of the man's mental status up from idiot and had his gun out and tracking the creature before he had consciously categorised the danger. At least the man had the native sense to run which was more than Alex did but gun in his hand and monster in his sights... it was the clearest and calmest he had felt since Mark had taken the call about the attack.

"Friend of yours?" he asked.

If his time in Torchwood had taught him anything it was not to make assumptions just because a ten foot creature with six arms, no head and slate grey skin was lumbering towards him with a hungry look on what he thought was its face. For all he knew that might be its way of saying hello.

The man skidded to a halt and looked back. "Yes. Best friends. In Love. Come to the wedding. The clue was in the 'run'."

That was where Alex wished he had Jack's, or one of the rest of the team's, knowledge of alien anatomy. Jack's, while broader, was also more esoteric and Alex wanted to stop the thing, not brighten its day. A glint of metal on the creature's torso caught his eye. The alien he might not have seen before but the alien device he had. Jack had called it a phase shifter and had had Ianto lock it straight in what Owen referred to as the naughty cupboard. Ianto had smirked at the description and his eyes had drifted to the entrance of Jack's room.

Taking careful aim, Alex did his best to ignore the particulars of what was bearing down on him at a worryingly fast rate of stagger. Given the particulars in question it was easier said than done.

'Just be in the moment. Breathe...' Jack's words came back to him, 'and sight the target...'

The gun kicked in his hand as he squeezed the trigger. Alex had just enough time to wonder if the creature could actually tear him limb from limb or whether it would merely steamroll over him when it shimmered. With a flash that brought tears to Alex's eyes it vanished into its own after-image.

"You killed it," the man exclaimed with a hint of accusation that Alex thought was very unfair given the circumstances.

"Pretty sure not." Alex breathed carefully as his heart rate dropped back to something close to normal. "Phase shifter on its shoulder. Took that out."

Alex was pleased to see there was a little bit of respect within the suspicion on the man's face as he stuck his hand out towards Alex.

"I'm the Doctor." He said the final word as if it should mean something. That was doctors for you. Alex took a surreptitious look around, just to check he hadn't accidentally wandered into some private research area.

"Alex Krycek," he said carefully. Not ready to give up his weapon he transferred it into his off-side, as he shook the offered hand. He wasn't quite as good with his left but he was good enough to buy the time to switch back to his right. His name wasn't exactly unknown in such quarters and he half expected to hear the sound of combat boots running down the corridor behind him. He could grab the doctor as a hostage but half the time the Consortium, if this was a Consortium operation, worked on a shoot-to-kill-hostages policy in the event of a security breach.

The doctor showed no recognition of his name but there was a undisguised curiosity in his face. "And who are you with, Alex Krycek?"

Alex was tempted to give a description of the statuesque blond nurse he had passed near radiography however under the penetrating stare of the man he bit the facetious comment back. "Torchwood," he admitted. The name wouldn't mean anything to most people.

The Doctor's eyes narrowed. "You're a long way from home."

"Not as long as you are," Alex chanced.

A flicker of something ancient and sad passed over the Doctor's expression before he grinned. "So, Alex Krycek of Torchwood, what are you doing here?"

Alex frowned. "Getting a soda."

The Doctor laughed. Seeing Alex's dark look he stopped, still smiling in genuine amusement. "I love this planet," he announced.

Alex was beginning to wonder if he should revise his opinion of the man's mental status. If it wasn't for the strange depth in the man's eyes that belied his humour then he would have written the man off as possibly insane and definitely stupid. As it was, he had to take him at his word. Earth medicine didn't have the answers for what Jack was and Alex doubted it could explain the person standing in front of him either, no matter how human he looked.

"Wait," Alex put a few cryptic comments together. "The 'Doctor'? Jack's Doctor?"

The man cocked his head slightly. "Now that's a very interesting philosophical question. Very Torchwood. I'm everyone's Doctor so I suppose I am Jack's Doctor but I'm not Jack's Doctor, not like Jack is... what year is it... Ianto's Jack. But then when I knew him, your Jack wasn't my Jack even when he was Torchwood's Jack. It all gets very confusing when you start assigning ownership to people, doesn't it? Always best to avoid that for the sake of all concerned."

"Doctor," Alex broke in through gritted teeth, "do you know Captain Jack Harkness?"

"Know... no. Knew and possibly will know... yes." The Doctor grinned broadly. "All clear now."

Alex tightened his hold on the grip of his pistol and thought a number of uncomplimentary things about aliens. He put the gun away carefully. It didn't look like he would need it except for putting himself out of his misery.

The Doctor appeared to be paying no attention to Alex's actions as he look around the mostly featureless junction.

"Have you seen a police box around?" he asked. "Blue. Says 'Police' on the side."

Alex would have liked to ask what he had done in his life to deserve being run into by a mad alien, however even he had to admit that the list was long and bloody. Part of him wanted to just ignore the question, and the alien, and get back to his soda and tense waiting but, whether it was Torchwood's influence, knowledge of what happened if you let aliens wander around unattended or just the promise of a distraction, Alex knew he couldn't do that.

"Come on." Alex directed the Doctor back towards the more populated areas of the hospital. "Let's go find your police box before any more of those things try and find us."

The Doctor looked at him curiously. "How do you know that there are more?"

"Because there always are," Alex sighed. "I assume you can do something about that?"

"Maybe," the Doctor hedged, "once we've found my TARDIS."

"Close enough. Let's go."

Alex wondered if it was worth asking the obvious questions of where he had last seen the box or TARDIS or whatever it was. He wished Tosh was with them. When she got technical he only understood, at best, half of what she said but if anyone would know how to find an alien artefact misplaced in a hospital it would be her. Her, and her souped-up PDA which made his own model, which he had slaved over for months, look like it had been made by Fisher-Price. Not that he was jealous.

Directions from a rather bemused intern trying to catch a nap, and they were back navigating the populated thoroughfares and avoiding trolleys, orderlies, and the occasional rushing nurse. Plan One was to find someone who could point them in the direction of management to see where suddenly appearing large, blue boxes got moved to while their owners were getting distracted tinkering with the computer system. Although the Doctor had finally agreed to let Alex talk, and not to mention what he had been doing to their network.

"Doctor!" A young woman called with some relief.

Three people looked around at the shout but she ignored them, focused on the man by Alex's side. The Doctor smiled happily back at her as if being accosted by young women was a common occurrence for him. She was young in a they-seem-younger-every-year way; her brightness and freshness yet to be ground down by reality. Dark hair pulled back from her slightly tanned face and dark eyes snapping with life. She could be his daughter, Alex supposed, but he didn't think so. Lover, possibly, but again that didn't seem to fit the easy way they looked at each other.

"Dan found it," she said as she got closer. "It was blocking some duct or other so maintenance moved it down to one of the storage areas. We've found something else as well. It's red. Mostly. Sometimes it's green or blue."

English, Alex noted, and well-spoken enough that he couldn't pin down the accent as anything other than 'south'. He wondered if he should introduce himself.

"Red?" The Doctor brightened. "Well it can't be that bad then. Let's go take a look. "

With nothing better to do than drive himself insane while he waited, and concerned about the appearance of more of the aliens, Alex followed them.

The corridors got noticeably less well lit and more dusty as they walked. Even more so when the Doctor pulled out a pencil-length metallic object and did something to a lock allowing them to slip through an 'authorised personnel only' door and make their way into the underbelly of the hospital. Bare concrete and exposed piping reminded Alex of more than a few factories he had broken into; they obviously had the same decorators. Despite the Doctor's insistence that he knew where he was going they made at least two wrong turns before they found themselves in a large storage area, not that the Doctor would admit as much. Alex felt his eyebrows rise as a young man stepped out of a tall blue box in the corner which, Alex noted, did indeed have 'Police' written on the side. He limped towards them, his right leg pulling slightly as he walked. Dan, presumably.

"Everything looks good, Doctor," he greeted them. His eyes flicked over Alex but like the girl he didn't question Alex's presence. Alex would have liked to think it was his ability to seem harmless and blend in but suspected that it was just that they were used to the Doctor turning up with random people and little or no explanation. Of course, if they were aliens then they could have some telepathic thing going on that Alex didn't know about.

"So where's this thing you found?" The Doctor wasn't quite bouncing but Alex could see the excitement lighting up his face. It was an expression he recognised from Mulder when he had a new mystery, Tosh when she had some new technology to crack, and the mirror when he had a plan to form. It might not be the thing that made them tick, but it was what made them tick faster.

Dan turned exasperated eyes towards the girl but, while she gave a little apologetic shrug in return, it didn't detract from her own eager look.

"Over there." The man waved towards another badly lit area of the room. He wasn't uninterested, Alex realised, just not as ready to rush in as the other two. Now Alex was looking carefully he could just see a red glow around a stack of crates.

The Doctor leading the way, they approached slowly. It was as much caution as to accommodate Dan's slightly halting gait. He could probably move as fast as any of them over short distances if it came to running for it but Alex doubted it would be comfortable for him. Closer he could see that the man was younger than he had first thought, the carefully trimmed moustache and goatee adding years that time had not yet got around to. Dark eyes were surrounded by smile lines and silver glinted at both lobe and top of each ear. He probably wasn't much older than the girl although some maturity about him suggested he had had a harder life. Or had lived somewhere they couldn't afford to let kids have a long childhood. They acted like siblings, pulling faces and pushing each other surreptitiously as they walked, but given the differences in features and accent (he still couldn't place the man's) he didn't think they were related either to each other or to the Doctor. Alex mentally classified it as an interesting setup and filed it away in favour of more immediate concerns.

The 'thing', when they rounded the boxes to see it clearly, was no more than ten centimetres in diameter and seemed to be made of light which Alex could only describe as fuzzy, if light could be fuzzy. Working at Torchwood had taught him that 'don't touch' (or inhale) was a good rule to work by so Alex didn't give in to the temptation to see if it was possible to stroke it. It was red in the same way that a shepherd's sunset was red, the colours streaking and swirling around the thing as it moved slightly, swaying in some force that the rest of them couldn't feel. Deep blue and green fronds that might have been nothing more than shadows and after-images wove within the mass, underlining the bright colours. It wasn't noticeably ticking or making any kind of structured change which could be a countdown, something which was frequently a good sign in an alien artefact. Nothing else about it was noticeably reassuring. Without meaning to, Alex edged himself closer to the nearest solid object.

"What is it?" Alex asked after they had stared at it for so long he was beginning to wonder if it had some kind of hypnotic quality beyond its aesthetics.

"I think..." the Doctor frowned at it and drew the silver cylinder from his pocket. Alex was pretty sure it was what the Doctor had waved at the door earlier. Since the thing most definitely wasn't a lock, Alex hoped the gadget did more than open things.

The Doctor muttered to himself as he pointed the device at the object. His companions paid close attention but Alex refused to believe that either of them understood what the Doctor was saying any more than he did. The object began to glow in a way that Alex really didn't like. Grabbing the two youngsters he hustled them behind some canisters which in all likelihood would be no protection if the thing exploded. The girl, and he realised he still hadn't got her name, glared at him crossly but peered around the side of the containers rather than returning to the Doctor's elbow.

"Got it!" the Doctor exclaimed triumphantly. "I should have realised with the phase radiation, the Tollorian photon entanglement principle, and..." he looked around confused, "what are you three doing back there?"

Alex opened his mouth to answer and decided if it wasn't obvious then he shouldn't bother. The girl slid past him without so much as a glance in his direction but Dan gave him a smile as they came out from behind their cover together.

"So what is it?" the girl asked as she got back to the Doctor's side.

"As far as I can tell, it's used as part of a bonding ritual and to increase manual dexterity in the physical development stage of the life cycle"

Alex stared at him, not entirely sure he could believe what he was hearing.

"A child's toy," the girl stated flatly. Alex got the impression she was a bit disappointed.

"If you want to put it like that," the Doctor said a bit sniffily, "I suppose so, yes."

"Bad luck, Mina," Dan teased in a low voice. "We can save the world again next time. At least it's pretty."

Alex didn't catch her non-verbal response as he looked from the Doctor to the glowing toy and back. He was almost sure it was glowing slightly brighter and the fronds wiggling faster.

"So, it's perfectly safe?" he double-checked.

The Doctor glanced at him, slightly distracted as he poked at the end of a brightly coloured protrusion. "Oh, not in the slightest."

Alex stared, waiting for him to elaborate, but the Doctor had returned to playing with the toy. As his finger passed close to any of the strands they swayed away from his touch. He seemed delighted by the interaction.

"Doctor," Alex ground out.

The Doctor looked up surprised and Alex pointedly directed his attention back to the ball with his eyes.

"Oh, don't worry. We have a few thousand years before the shielding wears out and it goes critical. But probably best not to leave it lying around." The Doctor gave Alex a pointed look. "You never know what type of people might find it."

Mina looked so attentive Alex wanted to pat her on the head and give her a dog biscuit. "What do we need to do?"

The Doctor straightened, scooping the toy up as he did. He smiled. "We throw it back."

"Back?" Dan said, looking around.

The Doctor nodded. "It doesn't belong in this phase. It malfunctioned and slipped through."

"It fell into the neighbour's yard," Alex realised. "That was what the alien wanted. It was trying to get its ball back."

The memory of the alien loomed in his mind. If that was one of the kids he hoped never to meet one of the adults.

The Doctor's eyes sparkled. "Catch."

Alex found himself holding the glowing ball before he had thought about whether he wanted it or not. It was slightly warm to the touch, tickling his palm as it moved. He was a highly trained assassin and had survived through situations which would have driven other men insane so he did not scream and drop the thing - but it was close. Looking at the shifting colours he concentrated on how much Mulder would love to be in his skin right at that moment. There was something so pleasingly dirty about the thought that he could ignore whatever it was the Doctor was doing with his strange little device and the fact that it was pointing at him as much as it was pointing at the thing in his hand. It was changing colour again, rippling happily as it cycled through the various shades of red, orange and pink.

"Ready?" the Doctor asked.

Alex nodded, not entirely trusting himself to speak. There was a definite squirmy feeling against his skin and it was only the bright, swirling colours that were in no way inky-black which allowed him to keep hold. He was more than ready to deep-six the thing.

"Fore!" Mina called, giggling slightly, as Alex pitched the ball down the room as hard as he could.

As it travelled it grew brighter until, with a flash of brilliance that left his eyeballs tearing, it vanished from sight. Alex blinked a few times to try and persuade the splodges in his vision to follow the ball into non-existence.

The silence that followed had a slightly anti-climactic edge.

"So, in however many thousand years, when that thing went boom," Alex said conversationally, "how big a punch would we have been talking?"

The Doctor looked thoughtful. "That thing. The matter~quasi-matter interaction... no more than half the city. Maybe two-thirds. Of course that would be Washington then rather than Washington now."

"And that was a kids' toy?" His palm and fingers tingled where they had been touching the thing as if his skin was imagining what would have happened if it had gone off while still in his hand.

"Don't worry," the Doctor said cheerily, "it's perfectly inert now it's returned to its own phase. It was just contact with ours that caused the problem."

What worried Alex the most was that that actually made some kind of sense.

"So are we ready to go," Dan asked, "or do we need to do more shopping?"

The Doctor looked over to Mina. "Did you get everything?"

She nodded; Alex thought her cheeks looked a little reddened.

"I can't believe we had to stop to pick up toiletries," Dan grumbled.

Mina gave him a defiant stare. "And I can't believe that the TARDIS didn't have what I needed."

"Which was what exactly?"

"None of your business." Mina pointedly turned and started walking towards the blue box which Alex assumed was the TARDIS they had all been talking about. Alex noticed she did so slow enough that Dan had no problem catching up. They were bickering about where they wanted to go next right up until they stepped through the box's door. It didn't seem like a good recipe for a small space; still that was hardly the strangest thing he had seen that day.

Alex and the Doctor followed at a quieter and more sedate pace, Alex carefully looking around for any signs of more alien activity he needed to worry about.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow at him. "You coming?" he asked as they drew close to the box.

"That," Alex didn't know whether he should be impressed or sceptical, "is your spaceship?"

He supposed a blue box with Police on the side was at least different from the traditional designs of 'saucer' or 'phallic'.

The Doctor patted the side proudly. "That's my old girl. She can go anywhere, she can. She's a TARDIS. Any time, any place."

Alex couldn't help but think of Jack with the description and firmly squashed down the little voice in the back of his head that sounded a lot like Ianto and was chuckling.

The Doctor peered at him. "You want to see?"

"I've got a friend upstairs..." Alex began reluctantly. That, and he had come to Washington to get away from aliens for a bit, not that he was about to mention that part.

The Doctor looked at him like he was an idiot. "Time machine," he said distinctly, emphasising the first word. "I can have you back the minute we leave."

He was right - Alex was an idiot. As aliens went this one seemed friendly, which was a nice change, but how many people thought that before vanishing from earth never to be seen again? The Doctor knew Jack, and not in a bad way, which could mean almost anything; Jack clearly had some good old, bad old days quietly hidden away. Did Alex want to put himself in the hands of an alien who seemed to think that the nineteenth century was the height of style and whose sanity was clearly in question? On the one hand, if he let a little thing such as mental state, or fashion sense, put him off he would have been heading away from Cardiff as fast as he could go five minutes after arriving at Torchwood Three and the thought of what he could learn was staggering; on the other...

"The minute we leave?" he asked, wanting to be sure. There was nothing he could do at the hospital except get in the way and going with the Doctor meant he could actually be doing rather than waiting. He didn't do waiting well when it wasn't something he had planned.

"The nanosecond," the Doctor said sincerely.

"Why not?" Alex agreed. All of the reasons why this was undoubtedly a bad plan clamoured for his attention. He ignored them; sometimes you just had to go under the wire.

The Doctor opened the door for him and, not totally sure he believed he was actually doing it, and worse doing it without his gun in his hand, Alex stepped inside. The first thing he noticed was that it was much bigger then one would have expected given the external dimensions.

"Huh," was all Alex said.

The second was that he was being watched expectantly. The two youngsters looked away from him quickly as he turned to see why they were staring at him.

"He didn't say it," Dan muttered to Mina.

Alex supposed most visitors hadn't worked at Torchwood Three. He could feel the curiosity burning off them like a small supernova. If they lived with a friend of Jack's in a blue box that was bigger on the inside then they were probably coming up with all sorts of amazing reasons why a man, or someone who appeared to be a man, whom they picked up wandering around a Washington hospital, wasn't more impressed. Anyone else would have assumed head trauma or psychological problems.

"My boss, Jack, he has a box which is similar." He put them out of their misery.

"Really?" Mina looked intrigued. "What does he use it for?"

Alex opened his mouth and shut it again, trying to decide on the best way to answer the question.

"Just keeps things in it." He shrugged the importance away.

"Yasmine Ashtari and Chandan Mehta." The Doctor could not have popped back up at a better time as far as Alex was concerned. Not that Jack would care about Alex bandying his personal life around to total strangers but there were just some things you did not admit to knowing about your boss. "This is Alex Krycek." He introduced him somewhat belatedly.

"Dan," the so-named young man put in.

"No time for that now," the Doctor interrupted before Alex could respond, waving him away from the controls. "Things to do, places to go." He looked over to where Alex stood. "So one trip. Anywhere in time and space. Where do you want to go?"

Alex smiled. There was only one answer to that.


	11. Chilmark, Martha's Vineyard

"So why are we here again?" Dan asked as the Doctor whirled a brightly coloured knob with one hand and pumped a level with another. Alex continued hanging on to the closest stationary object as the room skidded to a shuddering stop but looked across at where Dan and Mina were clinging to their own design features. What was it about aliens that they could invent interstellar spacecraft but still hadn't managed the humble seat belt?

"Eight year old girl went missing November 27, 1973," Alex recited the facts easily from memory; the problem was there weren't very many of them. "No one knows what happened to her. She was taken from her house while her parents were out. The only witness was her twelve year old brother who could not give a clear account of what happened. He was actually a suspect for a while but in the end the police just gave up looking. Her brother never did though."

"That's horrible," Mina breathed.

Alex looked away. He couldn't disagree, it was horrible, but in comparison to some of the other things he had seen in his life it didn't seem like much. He cared, although that was probably stretching the term, because it was Mulder's obsession and maybe it was the one answer that Alex could give him. Probably repeatedly. Call Alex mercenary, but verifiable information about what happened to Mulder's little sister was about the one thing, short of a gift-wrapped, real life alien, which could get Alex back into Mulder's good books. He had one trip - he was going to use it wisely.

The Doctor frowned at the readout. "I don't know what's with her at the moment." He patted the console familiarly. "I think one of her calibrators must be off."

After that landing, Alex wasn't too sure all his own parts were in the right places either.

"Which means?" he asked.

"We're a few days early; not a problem," the Doctor assured him blithely. "I'm sure we can keep out of trouble for a few days."

Mina snickered, covering her mouth to smother the sound when the Doctor turned to look at her. Alex was beginning to think that trusting the Doctor's reassurance about returning him immediately after they left might have not have been one of his wisest moves but, really, he had known that at the time. It wasn't like he could do anything useful at the hospital.

As soon as the Doctor turned back to the console Alex looked at her questioningly.

She shrugged. "Keeping out of trouble hasn't been one of our strong points," she admitted. "Precision isn't exactly one either. Last trip, we were actually supposed to be visiting Washington, the planet, which is located in the Diaptomine Cluster... Still, it's never dull."

That was practically an epitaph.

Mina must have seen the look on his face. "We'll get you back to your friend in the hospital," she promised. "I'll see if he needs a hand with the circuits while we're here. I'm getting quite good with the sonic-soldering now."

There was something deeply disconcerting about being reassured by a wide-eyed teenager who honestly believed what she was saying. Disconcerting became scary when it was one who helped out on the most advanced piece of technology that Alex had ever seen as if it was her second year electrical-engineering project. Still, Alex guessed, a circuit was a circuit whether it was it was attached to a time machine or a toaster. It was probably one of those things that it was best not to think about. Especially not when they had the 1970s incarnation of "The Vineyard" to explore.

The day was initially spent sightseeing and wandering around the offensively suburban neighbourhoods trying to find somewhere that could supply the Doctor with the nearest that twentieth century earth could come to whatever part he was after. Alex had been glad to swap his clearly anachronistic suit for something more suitable, even if the tan trousers, matching leather jacket and black roll neck were not entirely to his taste. Not that it had done much good. Walking around the island, Alex wasn't sure who was attracting more attention, the Doctor, who had insisted that the rest of them change but refused to wear anything other than the idiosyncratic outfit that was his standard day-wear, or the polyester and velour ensemble that Dan had not only enthusiastically chosen but had topped off with a large, wool cardigan. It was an outfit put together by someone who had heard of the 70s from the history books, and of taste, but didn't quite understand how it was all supposed to fit together. He supposed that the Doctor's breeches could be mistaken for glam, although Alex wasn't entirely sure when the movement started, but the frock coat and cravat weren't due for a comeback for at least a decade, and then only in New Romantics videos.

He put distance between himself and them when he could; with what was about to happen the last thing they needed was to draw attention to themselves as a group of strangers. That and just because knowing none of the people in this time wanted to kill him, yet, didn't stop the itch between his shoulder blades. How he had become involved with a group the majority of whom had no idea of the concept of basic discretion he wasn't sure. Mina, at least, had kept to the basics; bellbottom jeans, a knit halter neck and a fitted jacket. Even Alex had to acknowledge that she looked the part as they wandered along the Gay Head Cliffs.

Still, it was a relief to change the easily visible trousers and coat for black biker leathers and slip out of the TARDIS that evening for a solo exploration. Comfortable was as much about state of mind as the fit of the cloth and he could just about convince himself that the outfit said 'Tom of Finland' rather than 'Village People'. Since, in 1973, the one didn't exist and the other had yet to become a name that a well-brought up community like Chilmark would admit to knowing, he figured he shouldn't run into any problems he didn't create himself. He looked like a thug, but 'thug' was a look he was at home in, it was something he knew how to do and how to be, and that didn't change in thirty years or thirty centuries. As the clothes had been left for him on his bed with a key he assumed he had tacit permission to undertake a little reconnaissance. It was either that or the oddest come-on he'd experienced for a while.

Finding the Mulder family residence was simple; they'd passed the road a few times on their earlier walkabout so identifying the specific house wasn't difficult. Alex had had to memorise vast parts of Mulder's biography and that had included his childhood. It was a nice property in a nice neighbourhood, but what else was to be expected from an up and coming member of the Consortium? Alex had been doing quite nicely for himself as well, until they tried to blow him up. He watched the house for a few hours, the lights shifting from one room to the next like spotlights on a stage, highlighting the actors as they moved from one mark to the next and said their lines. The great drama of family life, being played out behind closed doors but revealed to his clandestine scrutiny. Like the rats he had once told Mulder he had learned to live with he huddled in concealment until the last bright flicker in the study made its way up the stairs to the bathroom and was finally snuffed out. Given who he worked for, it was laughably easy to break into William Mulder's house. Some things never changed.

The next day followed a similar pattern with Alex spending the evening surveilling while the others tinkered with the TARDIS. He didn't bother sneaking out, just waved them all good bye as he left. By then knew where the hiding places were, where he could watch and listen without being seen. The temptation was there in the back of his head to just kill Mulder Senior - it would happen after all, he had made it happen, and this would just be bringing the forgone conclusion to a quicker and easier end. Unfortunately, Torchwood and Jack had taught him too well; messing with the time stream, especially one which crossed your own, was dangerous. Alex couldn't kill William Mulder because he needed to be alive so that Alex could shoot him in the future. They both just had to suffer the consequences of that. Plus the Doctor would be pissed.

He wished he had some of the equipment he normally used but even without it he managed to get close enough to spy into the study. Other than avoiding them, he had no interest in the rest of the household. At least, not until Fox was much older. He had caught a glimpse or two of the boy that his Fox had been and it had been a disturbing experience. Not so much the fact that he had had carnal knowledge of someone who was at that time twelve years old, although that was something of an unpleasant thought, but that very occasionally he could see the adult man in a mannerism or gesture the boy made.

Even without his paraphernalia, Alex was in position to hear the call when it came. Whether it was luck, serendipity or the pay-off for good work on his part Alex didn't question, knowing it was probably a combination of all three.

"...And if the test doesn't reveal anything?... These are my children, not one of your experiments. You can't just dispose of them. People will notice..." William Mulder's voice sounded enough like his son's would when grown to give Alex pause. Maybe it was just the angry tones as much as the shared accent that made them similar. "I understand what's at stake but... Fine. You're right - I don't want to know the details.... Tomorrow?... I'll make sure we are both out and the children are alone. Do what you need to... You're sure that there'll be a reaction to the artefact?... And then what? You take them away from us anyway... Of course she has become attached; what did you expect? The sooner the cloning experiments start yielding results and we stop having to rely on women to... No, I can talk to my own wife!... I'll make her understand. Don't worry, you can look elsewhere for your weak link..."

Alex kept listening until William Mulder hung up the phone. Remaining still and quiet until all the lights went out, until all that there was was the comforting darkness of the night and, so far away, the necklace of stars around the moon's pale face, a reflection of his own. It was sometime before he realised he was shaking and longer before he was able to stop.

How many times had he committed minor atrocities to prevent, or at least mitigate, the major ones? Had watched and done nothing rather than acting because acting prematurely could be worse than not acting at all? He had known going into this that all he could do was observe and learn, information to be traded in later when it had become premium. He just hadn't expected it to be so difficult just because it was Mulder and his sister.

"Damn it," Alex whispered.

Maybe he should just leave. Return to the TARDIS and have the Doctor take him home. What had he been thinking? That they would experiment on their wives but not their children just because other Consortium spawn like Jeffrey had been brought up ignorant? A stupid delusion because every experiment needed a control. He had never believed that the Consortium had taken Samantha to a little farm in the country where she could run and play and have her own pony. He wasn't a bright-eyed idealist like Mulder who would believe in the tooth fairy or Santa if it suited his purposes. Hell, Mulder probably had a folder on both of them filed away between a delusion and two partial truths.

Alex walked back to the TARDIS in a slight haze, half hoping that someone would try and mug him, and more than slightly tempted to return by the scenic route to make that eventuality more likely. If there were any rougher areas allowed on the island. It wasn't Samantha's death, as such, that bothered him; he had always assumed that she had died at the hands of either the Consortium or the Aliens. The problem, he realised, was that he had bought into Mulder's story that she had been taken away. He had been expecting to identify the abductor, or at least create a little bit of photographic evidence which he could 'find' later and pass on to Mulder. After that his part was done, although naturally he would be there to help Mulder track down the grave and offer comfort. Having to watch as both children were tested, even knowing what the eventual outcome would be, was not something he had expected.

He let himself into the TARDIS, still smouldering.

"Alex?" Dan's accent that Alex was a thousand years too young to have placed was laced with concern, "are you all right?"

He didn't bother looking up. "They're going to experiment on her." He frowned. "Them," he corrected.

"Let me get the others." Dan was gone before Alex could tell him not to bother.

Alex didn't know what Dan was still doing up; reading most likely. Luck just didn't seem to be going his way that evening; not that he deserved the universe cutting him a break. Still, he'd have preferred to slip back in unnoticed and spend the night trying to decide if he had a strategy that didn't involve getting out of Dodge and finding an ice planet that was big enough for the amount of vodka he was planning to drink. As it was he could see that he was going to have a 'do you want to talk about it' conversation in his immediate future.

Mina arrived first; baggy university student society t-shirt that was almost certainly a free giveaway and soft, flannel trousers that suggested if she hadn't been in bed she had been on her way. One look at Alex and she said nothing, just turned around and went back out. Alex could hear her in the room that they used as a lounge and pseudo-kitchen, the rattle of crockery making it clear what she was doing. The TARDIS had a machine that could produce anything given a sample but apparently some previous companion had decided that there was something therapeutic about making hot drinks in traditional mugs and so there were facilities for that as well. Alex wandered through to join her, sinking into one of the chairs and scrubbing his hands through his hair.

A cup of tea appeared in front of him and he took it. He'd always thought of tea as a British thing, at least until he'd arrived at Torchwood Three and discovered their coffee addiction. Mina had laughed when he had told her that. She'd informed him seriously that he should visit the Middle East and he had decided not to mention that he had, but not as a tourist. On a number of occasions. And India, and China, and Russia. There was still something about Britain and tea; that and people who beat them at sport seemed to be the legacy of the once great empire.

The others arrived before the tea was so much as cool enough to sip. The Doctor was wearing a plaid dressing gown that Sherlock Holmes would have been envious of, assuming that the great detective had been hitting the opium particularly hard. Alex blinked twice, opened his mouth and shut it again. It was almost enough to put the whole 'Samantha being killed in front of Fox' mess in perspective.

"Alex?" the Doctor asked.

Alex looked at him slightly blankly. It was so easy to see the maniac who pinballed from one disaster to the next, the eternal explorer who was always looking for the next puzzle and next adventure. There wasn't eternity in his eyes but there were centuries, star-birth and star-death, one-way mirrors through which a spinning-top mind looked out at the world, needing constant simulation or risking instability. The slim lips almost danced with the words that came from them, at times a quickstep at others a waltz but always in motion. Even when they paused for a beat, poised and posed, they still spoke with a silent voice. It was a hard face to look into.

"I overheard a conversation between Mulder Senior and one of his colleagues," as if he didn't know who, "about tomorrow night. They have an artifact; they're sending it with an agent to see if the children react to it. If they don't react in the way expected..." he let his voice fade off, allowing them to fill in the blank themselves.

"You think the artefact is alien?" the Doctor pressed. "That it might be dangerous?"

It made sense. Alex nodded. "Got to be. Alien or something hybrid they have put together. If I was back in Cardiff then I might be able to tell you more," he said glumly. "I know Tosh was collecting information together on the aliens but I don't know what she found."

Alex slowly realised that both Mina and Dan were staring at the Doctor who had started grinning.

"Why didn't you say so?"

"Am I missing something here?" Alex asked.

"Oh, I love it when he does this," Mina confided, eyes wide and happy. "Alex, give him your phone."

With a suspicious look at all of them, Alex went to fetch his phone from his suit. There had been no point in carrying it around with him. His service provider was good, but didn't extend to the early 70s.

"Nice," the Doctor said appreciatively when Alex returned and handed it to him. Alex tried to follow what he was doing as he slipped the back off and made some sort of alteration with his silver gadget. Whatever he was doing had Mina practically vibrating in her seat. He wondered what her life had been like before the Doctor swept her away on this magic carpet ride. She had probably been one of those people who everyone said should get out more. He thought about where they were; it would be hard to get out further than this.

"There we go," the Doctor said, passing the phone back, "Universal Roaming. Any time, any place... as long as you know the right area code. How's that for a talk plan?"

"What's..?" Alex began.

"It defaults to your time and planet of residency," Mina told him, smiling. "Just enter the number."

"Don't forget you're calling international," Dan added helpfully.

Alex stared at the mobile in disbelief. Tosh was going to have a field day when she saw it; he considered keeping the information to himself. It was always good to have an ace up his sleeve, or in this case in his jacket pocket. He scrolled through his contacts until he found Jack's name and pressed the button to call.

"It'll only work in the vicinity of the Tardis," the Doctor warned.

Alex waved the restriction away, focussed on the beeps as the number dialled. A few seconds of silence in which Alex was sure it wasn't going to work and then the trill as it rang. Five rings and another pause. Alex forced himself to wait patiently; after all he had no idea what time it would be in Cardiff. Jack could be asleep or chasing Weevils or any one of a hundred other things that meant he couldn't come to the phone immediately. He could be dead. Alex wondered how he would show up on the missed call list and whether it was possible for Jack to call him back. Two more rings and the line picked up. Alex breathed a sigh of relief.

"Hello," a surprisingly Welsh voice greeted.

"Ianto?" Alex asked confused, "I thought I called Jack."

"Ah, his phone is on divert at the moment. He's a bit tied up. Did you need him specifically?"

A figure of speech, Alex told himself, it's just a figure of speech.

"I needed some information. I was hoping he might have it."

"Can I help?"

"Probably," Alex acknowledged. "It's about Mulder..."

He could hear Ianto's in-drawn breath and waited for the accusations.

"Is he having a bad reaction to the retcon?" Ianto sounded professionally concerned.

"No, nothing like that. I stumbled across some information that suggests that the Consortium has some artefact, probably alien, that they're planning to expose him to." Alex rolled his eyes at his own dissembling but he could hardly tell Ianto he was back in 1973.

"You want to know what the reaction is likely to be?"

"And whether it could be dangerous to others," Alex confirmed, "only I have no idea what type of artefact it might be."

The line went quiet, only the soft ebb and swell of Ianto's breathing letting Alex know that the other man was still there.

"Can you give us thirty minutes?" Ianto said at last. "I need to call the others back in. It sounds like we'll need Owen and Tosh on this."

"Thanks, Ianto," Alex would have agreed to a lot more than that. Thirty minutes didn't seem too much to ask in return for information when he had all night, or thirty years depending on how you looked at things. He took a risk. "Sorry I called so late."

"Don't worry," Ianto assured him, "we had a quiet day so Jack let everyone off early. I think Gwen and Tosh mentioned something about getting Tosh something to wear for her grandfather's birthday so they shouldn't have gone far. Do you know how to call directly into the conference room?"

Alex recited the number.

Ianto chuckled. "I swear Owen had that written on the back of his hand for weeks and he still couldn't remember it. He phoned it once when drunk, thinking it was the number of the girl he had met the night before. And on that note, I better go and roust him out of whatever bar he's in. Talk to you in thirty."

"Thirty," Alex agreed. He wondered if Ianto had got his stopwatch out and was counting down each second. He smiled slightly at the thought.

Pressing the disconnect button he found everyone looking at him expectantly.

"I have to call them back in half an hour," he told them. "If anyone can work it out it will be them."

Mina took a deep breath, "Well then... More tea?"


	12. The Hub, Cardiff

Ianto flicked the mobile shut with one hand and looked down at Jack who was laid out beneath him. His free hand rested over Jack's mouth, index finger raised in a way that was half 'shh' and half 'wait', the soft breath caressing his palm. Jack's army bed was not the most conducive place for sexual activity, especially for anything strenuous, which was possibly why they rarely used it. However, it served well enough on those occasions when what they wanted was long and slow. It was also very easy to clip handcuffs around each of the legs, although in Ianto's opinion that was about the only thing it had going for it which was why Jack was underneath.

"Alex?" Jack asked when Ianto moved his fingers from over Jack's lips.

"Yes. He needs some information on Thosove technology."

"At least he's talking to me again."

Ianto smiled down at him. No one he knew managed to stay mad at Jack for long, with the possible exception of Yvonne Hartman and no one had been entirely sure she was totally human even before what had happened, happened.

"You're going to call the others straight back in?" Jack asked, wiggling enticingly as far as he was able which, thanks to the restraints, wasn't very far.

Ianto shifted deliberately, making Jack moan. "Luckily I can multi-task."

"You," Jack told him appreciatively, "are an evil, evil man."

"Shhh, or I'll be forced to get the gag. And I don't feel," Ianto raised himself up a little way before sinking back down along the length of Jack's cock, "like getting up quite yet."

Jack stifled a groan as Ianto flipped the phone open again.

Twenty minutes later and immaculately dressed, Ianto was preparing refreshments when the door to the hub rolled open to admit the first of the returning team. From the bright chatter it was clear that Gwen and Tosh had beaten Owen back. Ianto smiled - Jack owed him a fiver.

Owen arrived five generous minutes after that, with a disgruntled expression and two bags of take-away. Jack shot Ianto an 'I'm on to you' look which he ignored with equanimity, contenting himself with gathering up the required plates and cutlery. Jack would make him pay later, but that was part of the fun after all.

They were all seated and passing around the Chinese when the phone began to burp politely. Ianto looked at his watch; thirty two minutes - not bad. Reaching out with a chopstick Jack prodded the pick-up button and with a small burst of static the line connected.

"Alex - you're on speaker," Jack greeted. "What's the situation?"

Ianto tried to imagine Alex an ocean away and on his home turf. Not in his suit; there was a slight change in the way that Alex spoke when he was buttoned up in a suit and tie as if even his voice smartened up. It was the echo of other Alexes, other roles he had played, and now that his life no longer relied on his portrayal he could not quite stop playing.

"The short version: I intercepted some information suggesting that the Consortium were planning to expose Mulder and possibly others to an artefact, I believe alien in origin. Don't know what results they are expecting but it can't be good."

"And the long version?" Jack asked.

"Pretty much the same. That's all I have."

"Can we assume it is Thosove technology?"

There was a pause as Alex thought.

"The Oiliens or their subordinates are the only alien race I know of that the Consortium has had any dealing with. We're probably lucky that they haven't discovered e-bay. Initially we thought that the Grays were a separate species, but that's just the mature form, correct?"

Ianto saw Jack nod and, discreetly, kicked him under the table.

"Yes," Jack confirmed aloud, "so, working hypothesis, whatever the Consortium has, it can be traced back to them. Tosh, have you managed to find much information on the type of tech they brought with them?"

Tosh shook her head. "Not much. U.N.I.T hasn't managed to find anything else."

"U.N.I.T were playing nice?" Owen asked, surprised.

Tosh gave a pleased little smile. "It's all in how you ask," she told them, "and what."

"Don't let me catch you hacking into U.N.I.T's computers," Jack admonished although his grin rather gave the game away.

"You won't," Tosh assured him smugly.

Owen pulled a face. "So we have nothing?" he summed up.

"We have to have some idea," Gwen insisted. "We may not know what the ones here have, but they are in the files so do we have anything on their home world? Anything to give us a clue as to what they might have brought with them."

"They're rebels and exiles," Owen pointed out snidely. "They didn't have much chance to pack before they came."

They were all missing the obvious again. Ianto took a sip of coffee before clearing his throat softly.

"Could it be a part from one of the ships? They had to arrive in something, after all, and spaceships are definitely alien technology."

They stared at him as if he had grown an extra head, except for Jack who hid his smile behind his own mug.

"Alex," Jack asked, "could the Consortium have got one of the ships?"

"Not one they could make work, but they had, or have, at least one ship." Alex sounded thoughtful. "Have had one since Roswell."

Gwen looked worriedly around the room. "So are we talking weapon systems here?"

"Didn't see any obvious weapon ports." Alex's voice held a totally misleading lightness. It was the type of lightness that smiled as it pulled the trigger or joked about a terminal diagnosis. "But then oil doesn't have obvious anything."

"He's right." Tosh pulled up some schematics and they all stared at the screen as if they understood what the information displayed there meant.

The ship was nice enough if a bit boring. It seemed unfair to deride it as derivative when it was the model from which popular culture had drawn but Ianto couldn't help wishing for something a bit more unusual. When the TARDIS had arrived at Torchwood One they had had to put up a link to the live video feed after the weight of people forwarding pictures to each other nearly brought down the e-mail servers. He was finding it easier to think about his time at London, to remember the good times and not just the smoke and screams. Jack had given him that, even if anything else between them was just a distraction that they could both lose themselves in when their personal darknesses pressed too close.

"So what does it have," Jack mused. "Engines, navigation, life support, communication systems..."

Gwen looked confused. "If they don't have mouths until the mature stage, how do they communicate?"

"Maybe they believe children should be seen and not heard," Owen muttered.

"Telepathy mostly," Jack answered. "They do use hosts to talk sometimes but they have some complicated social rules about doing that. It's mostly either a sign of respect to show trust or perceived unworthiness to project into the other person's mental space or it's used to indicate contempt."

"Wait a minute," Owen objected. "How do you know if you are being respected or insulted?"

Jack grinned at him. "In your case just assume the latter, but Gwen might have something."

"The Consortium certainly had an interest in psychics," Alex agreed.

Jack nodded. "Not surprising," he pointed out logically, "if the 'allies' they are planning on double-crossing use telepathy to communicate."

"Obviously not mind-readers then," Owen quipped.

"Not until they get inside you," Alex's voice echoed blankly from the speaker.

Owen shuffled defensively but didn't respond.

"So we're talking about them waving alien radio equipment at people?" Gwen bulldozed the conversation along. "They want to see if anyone wants to phone home?"

"Could they want a better way to communicate?" Tosh suggested. "We've seen telepathic translation circuits before."

"Or the opposite," Jack said grimly. "A telepathic disruptor. We can't assume that any weapons are intended for primary use against humans. The Thosove communicate telepathically; some sort of jamming device would be logical part of any arsenal."

"But that means it shouldn't affect humans." Tosh frowned. "Maybe that's why they're testing it - could they have come up with a weapon that only affects the aliens?"

"Unless," Owen said thoughtfully, "there were a few genetic anomalies that made humans, or at least some humans, susceptible?"

They all looked at him.

"What sort of genetic anomalies?" Jack asked before Alex could say anything.

"Look," Owen held up his hands defensively, "this is just supposition, but there was something a bit funky in Mulder's samples."

"Funky a medical term now, is it?" Gwen teased. Owen ignored her.

"You took samples from Mulder?" Alex's voice was dark.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist just because you weren't the only one collecting DNA." Ianto had on many occasions noted that Owen appeared to believe that tact, along with other basic courtesies, was something to be honoured in the breach rather than the observation. Baiting Alex, even when he was an ocean away, was on a level of stupidity up there with getting, unarmed, in a cage with a pissed off Weevil. Which Owen had also done. Maybe Ianto needed to have a word with Jack about Owen's continued state of mind. Not that Jack's method of grief counselling would be appropriate in Owen's case.

Owen looked to Jack to back him up. "Standard procedure - you'll be glad to know he didn't have any unmentionable social diseases. Or even any of the pronounceable ones."

"Are you sure the anomalies weren't due to his having been exposed to an inert version of the Oil?" Alex didn't bother arguing further; he probably knew the protocols well enough, he just hadn't thought them through.

"You want to come back here and do this?" Owen asked rhetorically. "It wasn't due to the Thosove and it wasn't due to the vaccine either."

"But Mulder isn't psychic." Alex sounded slightly less sure than Ianto suspected he meant to; there was an almost pleading hint underneath his words. "So something like that shouldn't affect him."

Did Alex want to be assured that Mulder was or wasn't psychic? Was it the slight phobia he had about extra-terrestrial influence talking or the hope that this might be a way that he and Mulder could reconnect? Jack's eyes met his across the table for a moment and Ianto knew they were both wondering the same thing. Psychics, even potential ones, were a major headache, no pun intended, when it came to security.

"It isn't something we can scan for," Tosh's calm voice broke the moment and Ianto looked away, aware he was flushing slightly although he had no reason to be, "but, unless he is a very good actor, he didn't appear to be picking up anything when he was here. He was surprised by the Weevil, us... everything."

"Mulder can't act worth a damn," Alex told them fondly, "so it must be something else."

Was the disappointment in his words just the result of another line of inquiry being closed or something more? Alex wasn't easy to read at the best of times and on a phone was almost impossible unless he wanted you to know something.

"I'm not saying he is psychic," Owen objected as if he was talking to a particularly slow class of toddlers. "I'm saying that whatever caused the funky," he shot a look at Gwen, "test results _might_ mean that Mulder, and anyone with similar anomalies, _might_ react differently to everyone else."

"How differently?" Jack demanded.

"It might trigger something," Owen admitted. "Look, there are lots of bits that make up what we are that we don't quite know why or how they work as they do. Especially on the molecular level. Some of it's doodles that evolution left on the drawing board, some of it's probably vitally important but we don't know what for yet. You get the occasional mutation; lots of the time that's bad, sometimes it's the species getting a kick start. Most of the time the body just ticks over nicely but when something disrupts it, then minor variations can have a major influence on exactly how a person's body responds."

"So when you say anyone with similar anomalies," Alex asked, "are we talking similar genetically, like his sister?"

"You think it might relate to what happened to her?" Owen shrugged "With the data we have there is no way, even for a genius like me, to tell if it's just your boyfriend being special or a shared family trait. I'd advise you not to try and have kids until we know more but that's about it."

"But you think the anomalies you detected are related to psychic ability?" Jack pressed.

"I didn't say that," Owen protested, "I said that Mulder had some anomalies in his results that were unusual and might mean he reacted to things differently than your average person. You guys are the ones talking about alien mind readers."

"Is there any way of confirming whether this is anything other than pure conjecture?" Jack looked each of them in turn.

"Maybe." Tosh stopped, as if she had only realised she had spoken aloud when she heard her own voice. "Owen, can you forward me Mulder's results?"

"I'll have to..." Owen pointed his thumb in the vague direction of the medical bay.

"Go," Jack ordered.

Owen went. Ianto didn't quite catch the specifics of Owen's grumbling as he headed out of the room. It was to the doctor's credit however that despite his complaints he didn't dawdle. Ianto did not think that was because his dinner was getting cold. Owen might be an arse but he earned the good coffee.

"Got it," Tosh confirmed. "Give me a minute..."

Jack leant back in his chair and, with the grin that made Ianto want to both kiss him and slap him, said, "So, Alex, been seeing a lot of Agent Mulder..?"

There was a long silence from the phone speaker.

"Looking for a bedtime story, Jack?" Alex purred at last.

"Just passing the time while the troops work."

"Didn't your parents tell you that some things were better done in private?"

Jack chuckled, a light flirtatious sound. "Sure, but they're so much more fun in company."

"I might have bumped into Mulder in a dark alley," Alex conceded. It sounded like he was smiling.

"Kinky," Jack said in the appreciative tone that he reserved for the details of his more improbable stories.

Owen slipped back into his seat and picked up the remains of his Chinese, pointedly ignoring the conversation that Jack was having.

"Oi, Ianto, how about a refill?"

Ianto inclined his head and got up to collect cups. Everyone except Tosh gave him the pleading expression that said 'if you are making coffee anyway...' with a rather pathetic disavowal of responsibility that made him want to say 'just ask!'. He was sure Tosh would have added her voice to the chorus as well if she hadn't been lost in her electronic world so he did it for her. She always got the special coffee.

If coffee was his way of contributing then at least he was doing something. He knew Torchwood, but this wasn't about Torchwood and there weren't even any artefacts in the archive that came close. He got a 'thanks' from Gwen and a little smile of gratitude from Jack, slipped in between the lines he was exchanging with Alex. He wondered if there was something wrong with him that the expression, a small subtle twitch that he liked to think was more real rather than the lecherous grin that Jack plastered on his face as a matter of course, meant more to him than the sincerely meant gratitude of Gwen's.

It gave him something to think about as the water heated and swirled through the machine. Creating coffee was a meditative exercise, the modern tea ceremony. The smell of the fresh brew wafted through the hub, an important aspect of the preparation; the first hint for everyone to savour, something to get the mouth watering and the body primed. Foreplay for the taste buds.

He made up each cup according to its owner's preferences, briefly reaching out to touch Alex's green and white stripy mug where it had been safely stored until his return. It was a silly ritual but he did it all the same. Carefully arranging everything on a tray, he made his way back.

"There's just something about interrogation rooms and handcuffs," Jack was saying as Ianto re-entered the conference room. "It's the whole power thing they have going on. There was this one time..."

Ianto made a mental note as he distributed the drinks. He'd heard this story before so was able to settle down in his seat and enjoy the animation on Jack's face while the words washed over him.

"Got it!" Tosh interrupted.

"What've you got, Tosh?" All the playfulness was gone from Jack's voice in an instant.

"This isn't complete confirmation," Tosh warned. She had the determined and slightly distracted look that Ianto had come to recognise and fear. Time to order in extra coffee and schedule some Weevil hunts as he and Jack weren't likely to get the Hub to themselves for a while. "But from what I'm seeing here..." She paused for a moment, eyes flicking from one set of data to the next, "the anomalies in Agent Mulder's readings do have certain characteristics in common with the genetic pattern of the Thosove. Not the same but similar enough that it is possible that the telepathic interface matrix in the ship would try and initiate a connection and..."

"In English, Tosh," Owen broke in.

She thought about that for a moment. How to translate the high-powered languages of maths, metaphysics and alien circuits down to basic words, ill-equipped to handle the concepts. "It would be bad."

"How bad?" Alex asked immediately.

There was a slight pause as everyone in the room remembered that they were not talking about a hypothetical question. Tosh took a sip of her coffee and then blinked at it in surprise as she realised it existed at all. She gave Ianto a little nod of thanks and he smiled acknowledgment in return.

Gripping the mug in one hand, Tosh brought up a new display on the main screen. What looked to Ianto's medically untrained eye like a DNA helix rotated slowly in front of them.

"Some people, including your Agent Mulder, have a undeveloped predisposition, possibly artificially induced, towards a form of psychic ability," she said slowly. "Normally it has no effect on anything except maybe slightly lowering their chances of getting some cancers. However, it is similar enough to part of the Thosove nucleotide chains that exposure to parts of a Thosove ship might trigger that ability by trying to force a connection."

There was a certain amount of frustration leaking into Alex's growled, "Which means what?"

"Probably, telepathy and no way to turn it off." Tosh's voice held an edge of horror, enough, Ianto suspected, to make Alex back off a little.

As angry as he was, Ianto was of the belief that Alex had a bit of a soft spot for their technical genius. It probably had something to do with the reputation they were beginning to get in the pool rooms. Alex aside, the way Jack was focussing on Tosh suggested that the incident with Mary hadn't been forgotten by either of them. Ianto made a mental note to talk to Jack about introducing the basic psychic training that had been mandatory at Torchwood One; it wouldn't be much but it might soothe a few fears and offer some hope for future dealings.

"I'd classify that as bad," Jack agreed.

"I'll run some simulations," Tosh said quietly. "See if we can get a more exact model and some idea of how to counter it."

"Thank you." Ianto thought Alex sounded a little defeated which was unlike him.

Jack gave her a nod and she began making notes on her palmtop, withdrawing from the meeting almost as fully as if she had stood up and left. One day Ianto was sure she was going to try and spear food with her stylus or enter data with her chopstick.

"Is that enough to go on, Alex?" Jack asked.

Alex blew a deep breath down the phone. "More than we had before."

"We," Gwen mouthed silently.

Jack shook his head at her. Ianto knew he trusted Alex not to say anything unless it was necessary and to clean up after himself if security was compromised. Nicholas perhaps? He knew more than he was probably supposed to about Torchwood and Alex could easily have enlisted his help.

"Call if you need anything else," Jack instructed, "and be careful".

"Always," Alex agreed.

"Good luck." Jack signed off. "Torchwood Three out."

Ianto collected his mental notes together into a list. He would start acting on it as soon as the remains of dinner had been tidied away.


	13. Chilmark, Martha's Vineyard

"So that's what's going to happen," Alex concluded his summary of the conversation for the benefit of his audience.

Dan frowned. "How do you know the girl won't react?"

"He doesn't," the Doctor answered for him. "He knows that his friend will. That's what your colleagues concluded, wasn't it?"

Alex nodded, disgusted with himself and with the whole situation. He'd travelled back in time to stand back and watch someone shoot an eight year old and torture her brother. Alex devoutly hoped that the artefact threw Fox for as much as a loop as Tosh seemed to think it would so that he would not witness, or at least not comprehend, what happened to his sister. It definitely explained why Fox never had a clear idea of what happened to her. Something else that Mulder and Scully would have in common; Alex watching their respective sisters die. Hardly a reason for Mulder to put aside his enmity and let Alex back into his life as something other than a suspect or a corpse.

"You knew how this had to end," the Doctor warned. "You can't change your own timeline."

"I know," Alex growled, putting the tea down harder than he intended so it slopped over the rim of the cup. He stood up, needing to move. Pacing out his frustration as much as he could in the small room, he took a deep breath. In more normal tones he recited, "Samantha has to vanish and Fox has to spend his life searching for her because that is what drove the Fox Mulder that I knew and resulted in my presence here."

"But that's it!" Dan exclaimed. "She wasn't killed - she vanished. So we make sure she vanishes."

There was silence for a moment as they all thought about the implications of that.

"You want to kidnap her?" Mina asked, shocked but giving voice to what they were all thinking.

"You want to leave her here to be killed?" Dan made a dismissive gesture. "We might as well pull the trigger ourselves."

"Of course I don't," Mina snapped, "but can we do that?"

She looked at him as if Alex knew the answer. He wasn't the one with the time machine. Although he was the one whose involvement with the family was causing problems.

"Mulder never remembered what happened to her," Alex admitted slowly, "At least he never said anything if he did. If we take her with us and I retcon him then nothing will change - no paradox."

"The TARDIS is hardly a place for a eight year old girl," The Doctor pointed out mildly. He didn't disagree, Alex noticed.

Dan gave the Doctor a hard look. "So we take her somewhere safe."

He was seconds from offering to take her home with him, Alex realised. Something about the situation was pushing buttons that Alex hadn't realised that Dan had. Unable to stop himself his eyes flicked down to Dan's leg. Whatever physical damage existed was covered by his clothes and Alex had never asked.

"And the assassin?" the Doctor reminded them.

"I can retcon him as well," Alex offered, "or you can help me dispose of the body. Probably a lot easier to do when you have a time-travelling spaceship..." The Doctor looked shocked at the thought. "So, retcon then." All of them looked a little stunned by his easy talk of murder, even if it was a matter of defence. That was why you never worked with amateurs, "You don't have to be involved in this. I can do it on my own."

"We want to help, don't we?" Mina insisted.

Dan nodded.

"Doctor?" Alex asked.

"No killing except as a last resort," the Doctor looked at him gravely. "And preferably not then. It's something of a rule around here."

"No killing," Alex agreed easily. It wasn't the first time that he'd worked with such constraints; in his experience they tended to become more guidelines than rules fairly quickly when the bullets started flying. "As long as I can bluff, threaten, lie and/or tell the truth as necessary. Especially the bluff. Trust me, appealing to their better natures will not work."

There was no way he was going to keep their opposing number in check if he didn't believe they were deadly serious.

The Doctor thought for a second and grinned. "I don't think I've kidnapped anyone in years. Tomorrow we go rescue your friend."

They were all insane; it was the only explanation. He could feel the laugh bubbling up inside him, half way to hysteria and picking up speed.

"Fox always claimed that Samantha was abducted by aliens," he told them crazily and they smiled with him, enjoying the joke without understanding the dark burn of irony.

It was the first time he had said their names since he came on board the TARDIS but on the wave of euphoria they just slipped out. It seemed right somehow. The boy was Fox rather than the man, Mulder, whom he knew. They discussed ideas, letting them brew with the tea until they were repeating themselves pointlessly and sleep was more imperative than strategies which, like a lover's promises, would come to nothing in the morning light.

Alex woke slowly. Nothing would happen until evening and the late night added a lethargy to his body that the promise of future adrenaline couldn't dispel. It was the calm before the storm, the deep breath before the scream and like any good soldier he had learnt to cherish the time when he had it. His mind drifted, as lazy and disconnected as his body.

_Nicholas in surgery for three days and thirty years, Mark's frightened, red-rimmed eyes and Azzam's too quiet acceptance._

_The first time that he and Mulder had kissed; not sure If he'd made that first move or whether Mulder had but knowing that between one second and the next there was a sudden feeling of tension, of expectation, and neither of them had pulled away._

_The first time Mulder punched him, seeing the belief of betrayal in his eyes which almost hurt more than the blows. Wondering what the Consortium had made Mulder think. Tasting the blood in his mouth and in that moment realising that despite everything he'd ever said, despite everything he believed, he would go crawling back to Mulder no matter what he did._

_Torchwood giving him hope that he could win the war even as they took away any victory from the battle._

_Jack and Ianto waiting for everyone except Jack to die, Tosh and Owen trying so desperately to live and Gwen, untouched by understanding of the true darkness that lurked within Torchwood._

When he got up it was with a renewed feeling of resolve. Which was fortunate because he found Dan and Mina looking nervous, impatient and more than a little frazzled. He wasn't sure what all the words meant when he asked them what the problem was but, the few words he did pick up from his smattering of Arabic were distinctly uncomplimentary. While the day dragged on longer than Alex expected, he had a plan of action; he could let the time flow around him as he waited. Waiting was, apparently, not something they did much of in the TARDIS as a general rule, it being a time machine. Between them, the Doctor and he kept up a steady list of chores to keep the two younger occupants of the TARDIS busy. At least that was what Alex assumed the Doctor was doing when he decided that it was imperative that some obscure components of the operating system that Alex had never heard of before needed removing, cleaning and putting back in a particular and very important order. After Dan nearly broke one of the elements he was supposed to be polishing, Alex dragged him out to do a little souvenir hunting and scouting. They left Mina frowning in concentration at the pieces and totally unaware of their departure.

It was nearly eight when the front door opened and Bill and Teena Mulder walked the ten yards that separated their house from that of the Galbrands. Alex had read the official reports so many times he had them memorised nearly as well as Mulder did. He gave them ten minutes to be sure and another ten waiting for the children to get settled before he slipped in the backdoor, left trustingly unlocked, and grabbed the key from its hook. Seconds later the house was more secure than when he had arrived. It wouldn't stop anyone, it would barely slow a professional down but sometimes those extra seconds were all you needed. As prepared as they were ever going to get, the four of them settled into the hiding places that Alex had found for them and waited.

An hour later and the sounds of the television drifted into the night with news of Nixon and government conspiracy. Alex listened with half an ear, wondering what it must have been like to hear the news for the first time while the scandal was breaking. Oral sex with a White House intern really didn't have the same impact, they just didn't do political chicanery like they used to. Or maybe cover-up merchants like him were better at hiding the small stuff in the name of democracy and international standing.

The soft pad of feet and the quiet rattle of a door in its frame and Alex was ready. The Consortium agent was picking the lock of the backdoor when, using his concentration against him, Alex slipped in behind him and put his own gun to the man's head.

"I wouldn't," Alex whispered.

With slow careful movements the man out held his hands as spread as he could without dropping the lock picks.

"Good," Alex hissed. He backed off far enough that the man couldn't just knock his weapon away if he turned fast. "Against the wall, hands on the brick where I can see them. Don't turn around."

The man complied reluctantly. Black leather gloves on his hands and a balaclava rolled down over his head; he was anonymous and barely more than a shadow. Just another Consortium thug. Not wanting to take his eyes off his prisoner, Alex sensed as much as saw the others joining him.

"Search his pockets," he told them. "One of you, carefully. And relieve him of that bag."

It was the Doctor who stepped forward and Alex breathed easier when he saw that the Doctor was taking care not to block his lines of sight. Alex doubted that he found all the concealed weapons but he at least got the gun and knife that were in easy reach. Alex drew the key he had liberated out of his pocket and handed it to Mina. She walked around him and unlocked the door. He pretended not to have felt the faint tremor in her hands.

The kitchen was clean and polished to Good Housekeeping standards, as bright white as an operating room and almost as lifeless. A space age miracle of plastic and ceramic. Mina went to the doorway that led to the rest of the house, glancing through. She nodded, letting them know it was clear.

"Sit!" Alex ordered.

Dan pulled out one of the chairs and then stepped well back to allow the man to do as he was told. With little else to contribute to the scene Alex was creating, Dan retreated towards the back door to keep watch.

"I know what you are thinking," Alex purred, walking around the man. "That we don't care that you have seen our faces. You're right." He saw the slight jump of muscles under the dark cloth, the tension as the man prepared to go out fighting, "but not for the reason that you think," Alex stopped immediately behind the man. "We don't care because when this is over you will not be able to find us."

The man scoffed. "Kill me. They'll still find you and when they do..."

The cuff Alex delivered was automatic. The voice was rusty, the accent sparking something deep inside him that made him want to strike out.

"Believe what you want," he hissed harshly, "but if you want to convince me to kill you go right ahead. I'd say it was in your best interests to shut up."

The man shut.

Alex nodded to the Doctor. With a drum roll of pens, lock picks and other miscellaneous knickknacks, the bag flopped down on the table with more solidity than its external appearance suggested. As the Doctor went to open it the man surged forwards to stop him. He was barely half out of the chair before Alex had dragged him back down. A sharp smack to the base of his skull from the butt of Alex's gun and he slumped forward. Not trusting the pose for an instant, Alex grabbed him by the balaclava and tipped the head back. When no resistance was offered he carefully peeled back an eyelid and then slipped his hand under the thick material at the neck to check the man's pulse. Satisfied, he stepped back. The others were looking at him accusingly but he refused to be made to feel guilty.

"He should come round in a little while. I didn't hit him that hard." He'd wanted to though.

The Doctor gave him an odd look but chose not to comment. He undid the clasp of the bag and pulled out the contents: a manila folder and a sealed box. Alex immediately reached for the files while the Doctor went for the box. Their arms crossed above the table and they grinned at each other.

The papers were brutal in their clinical simplicity. Two forms, one for each child, names and personal information already filled in. A description of the protocol to be used in the experiment. It was all there, laid out in slightly smudged black and white down to the check boxes at the bottom of each form for what action was being taken in regard to each child. Alex looked at the anonymous Consortium agent and, all 'there but for the grace of God' feelings aside, wished he had hit him harder. He laid his finds out on the table for the others to read and turned his attention to the Doctor's acquisition.

As Alex had suspected the box held a strange looking metal fragment. He had no idea what the writing said but it gave him the creeps. Pushing the feeling aside he made a mental note in case he stumbled across anything similar in the future. He'd need to wait for the outcome of Tosh's simulation for confirmation but everything seemed to suggest that it, or something like it, and Mulder were a bad combination. The Doctor, however, suffered no noticeable ill effects as he examined it carefully, apparently intrigued. Alex rolled his eyes. Figured.

Mina and Dan edged closer to get a better view as the Doctor fished out the ubiquitous instrument that Alex had noticed he appeared to use for everything and began to do things to the artefact with it.

"What is it?" Mina asked.

The Doctor turned the thing over in his hand "Hmmm?"

"Can you put it away?" Alex broke in. "You can play with it later when we're done."

"It's really rather clever," the Doctor began.

"Not," Alex said distinctly, "now. Now, we put the thing back in its box and work out the best way to get the girl."

The Doctor opened his mouth to object but Alex held up a finger and then pointed emphatically at the box.

"Do you always get this grumpy?" the Doctor asked conversationally, but to Alex's relief he did as he was asked.

"Yes, every time I..."

Alex was interrupted by a groan from their prisoner. He was back behind him in an instant, gun ready and arm wrapped around the wool covered throat, pressed just heavily enough to make the threat clear.

"Don't," Alex warned, "unless you want us to start getting inventive."

"Who are you?" A young voice, not yet grown into its arrogant tone. "And what are you doing to that man?"

They looked over to the doorway from which the voice had come.

"Fuck," Alex muttered under his breath. The prisoner moaned pitifully, playing for sympathy.

Dan responded quickest. "Fox, that's your name, right?" The kid nodded warily. "My friends and I aren't here to hurt you or your sister. We're here to protect you."

It was a good line, Alex thought approvingly. It even had the added value of being truthful, although that was something of a personal preference rather than a necessity. He knew Fox's preferences though and doubted that had changed much between boy and man. It was best not to risk that Fox's irritating habit of jumping to the truth wasn't also present in the pint-sized version of him.

His skin prickled as Fox took in his threatening stance and weighed it against the outfit of the intruder. They could do this by force if they had to but Alex had been hoping to avoid that. Carefully and slowly he stepped back from the prisoner. He hoped that the man would have the sense not to try anything. The mission was blown by this point; the best result that he could hope for was to stay alive to set the hounds of hell on their tails by giving a full report.

"Fox" (And didn't the name feel like honey in his mouth even now?) "I'm going to show you something."

Still looking suspicious Fox let Alex gather the papers from the table and bring them over to him. Alex was surprised when Mina conspicuously took his place behind the prisoner as he moved away but he kept that surprise to himself not wanting to give away the bluff. Instead he used the moment when Fox's attention was split to make sure that, when he gathered them, the form with Fox's name on was hidden in the middle of the protocol instructions. He didn't dare put his gun away, but he was very careful to hold it in a non-threatening manner as he approached the child. Trying to remember every trick he had been taught to get Fox's co-operation he bent down on one knee to bring him down to Fox's level.

"We took this from that man." Alex held the form out so that Fox could see it and then looked at their prisoner.

Fox's eyes widened as he read what was being presented to him.

"You made this up," Fox accused but Alex could hear the edge of panic in his voice. Part of him believed and that was normally enough.

Alex shook his head sadly. "Ask any of them," he offered. "You see that box that the tall man with the big nose is holding? That has the object in that they wanted to expose your sister to."

Alex could see the Doctor's eyebrows go up and hoped that Fox thought it was a reaction to his description. Please don't blow it, Alex begged silently. To his relief the Doctor said nothing, which was a miracle in itself, and waved the container in which the ship fragment was cocooned.

Fox took a step towards the Doctor and the box. "Can I see?"

Alex's breath caught in his throat.

"No, sorry." the Doctor drew the artefact protectively closer to him. "The exposure would be too dangerous. Weren't you paying attention?"

Fox pouted. He hadn't run screaming which was a good sign but any moment he was going to start thinking again and demand his parents. That he hadn't, Alex put down to a combination of pride and conditioning not to bother the adults but it wasn't something that they could rely on for long.

"Fox," Alex said quietly, "we're here to help you and your sister."

His knee was getting stiff on the cold floor but he didn't dare stand. Fox looked back to him, searching his face for something but Alex had no idea what. He just hoped Fox found whatever he was looking for.

"You could all be lying," Fox pointed out logically.

"We could be," Alex admitted, trying to keep his voice reassuring, "but we aren't. We don't want to do any of these things. We came here to stop them happening."

Slowly Fox looked around the room again, taking them each in with those assessing hazel eyes. Alex's fingers tightened and loosened on the handle of his pistol. If Fox didn't believe them, if he tried anything...

Fox turned back to Alex again. "Okay," Fox said.

Alex bit back the urge to cheer and offered a silent thanks to anything that was listening. Kids really weren't his thing.

"Doctor, Mina, stay here with him." He nodded to the prisoner. "Don't let him move. Dan, you watch the door. Come on, Fox, let's go get your sister."

He'd expected the Doctor to pull out the gun that he had confiscated, forgetting in the heat of the moment who he was dealing with, but instead the Doctor held out his gadget in a menacing manner.

Alex went to the table to put the papers back and, as he did, stepped close to their captive.

"Do you know what that is?" he asked the still slightly dazed man. Alex thought the Doctor looked a little smug when the only response he received was a head shake from their prisoner. After the blow Alex had given him, movement probably wasn't advisable as the quickly hidden wince confirmed. "If you like living," he said quietly, not wanting Fox to hear, "you better hope for your sake that you don't find out. You've seen what alien tech can do." He winked at the Doctor as he straightened.

A half-finished game of Stratego lay scattered across the floor of the lounge. From Sam's slightly guilty jump as they came back in Alex suspected she had being taking advantage of her opponent's absence.

"Where's my soda?" she demanded, her eyes jumping from her brother to him as she realised he wasn't alone. "Who's that? You know you aren't supposed..."

"Shut up," Fox interrupted.

Samantha looked indignant and Alex could see a sibling fight brewing.

"Samantha," he broke in before Fox could respond, "my name is Alex. I know your father. He's the reason I'm here."

It was so much easier to lie with the truth. He saw Fox flinch at the mention of his father, flushing uncomfortably. Samantha stared at him with more suspicion than Fox had, his seemingly taking her brother's side in the argument counting against him more than his menacing a masked man in the kitchen had to Fox. Either that or Samantha was the naturally more distrustful of the two.

"What do you want?" The imperious tone was obviously a family trait. Or maybe it was a New England one; ditching the tea didn't necessarily mean ditching the attitude.

"I want to show you something." It made him sound like a dirty old man trying to lure her into the bushes. "In the kitchen. We can get your soda while we're there." _Come with me, little girl. Do you want a sweetie?_

Samantha stood up and led the way, Alex and the slightly sulking Fox following closely. From her gasp and the way she suddenly stopped it was clear when she could see into the room. A gentle hand on her back and she allowed herself to be encouraged forwards.

Alex knelt down again, hoping what had worked with Fox would work a second time.

"You see that man?" Since her eyes hadn't left the black clad figure, Alex thought it was a fair bet. "He came here to hurt you. We stopped him but he, or someone like him will be back and we won't be able to stop them."

"My dad will stop them." Alex wanted to laugh at the surety in her tone. Even Fox didn't look totally convinced. Alex wondered how much of his father's dealings young Fox had picked up. Twelve year olds weren't stupid and Fox less so than many. He forbore asking.

"He can't stop them either," Alex said, trying his best to sound sympathetic. It was something he understood better than she would ever know.

Samantha put her hands on her hips and glared at him defiantly. "He can, so."

"He can't." _He probably won't even try too hard because he doesn't believe he can put his own flesh and blood above the fate of the world. That's why patriots are dangerous, Honey, you wouldn't believe what we are willing to sacrifice._ "That's why he sent us," Alex lied. "We're here to take you to a safe place. Somewhere that they can't hurt you."

She looked at her brother who nodded. Alex wanted to get down on his other knee and beg for his forgiveness.

"Okay," she agreed. "What about Fox? Is he coming with us?"

"He has to stay here."

"Why?"

_Because he has to be tortured by guilt over your disappearance for the next twenty years so that he and I can meet._

"So that he can tell your parents that we have you safe." The words rolled from Alex's mouth easily.

It shouldn't have worked. She should have known better than to go with strangers on a dark night and Fox should have known better than to let her go. No wonder years later Fox had suspected a darker motive in her disappearance. Alex spent most of his life working to keep people ignorant of the horrors that surrounded them, but what waited in the dark of space not the dark of the night. In some ways it was refreshing to be in an era where not every stranger was automatically a sexual predator but at the same time the defencelessness of that ignorance sparked an anger within him. He thought of the man sitting at the table and the betrayal of a child's trust.

"Mina, Dan, could you take Samantha back with you to the TARDIS?" It wasn't really a question.

Samantha gave her brother a quick hug. "See you soon, Fox."

"Not if I can help it."

"Buttmunch."

"Brat."

He'll miss you, Alex wanted to tell her, he'll miss you every day and never forget you but it seemed wrong to profane that particular truth by mixing it with his lies. It was the moment Fox Mulder's life went wrong.

He cleared his throat as they waved good bye to each other and stood up.

"Fox, why don't you go and gather some of your sister's things together?" He could put them back easily enough after the sedative in the Retcon took effect. "The Doctor and I can take them for her."

Fox looked from the empty space where his sister had been to the man who had supposedly come to hurt them and the two imposing men who held weapons. For a moment Alex thought he was going to say something, but at twelve it was a lot harder to stand up to adults compared to when you were one yourself. Alex wanted to reassure him that what he thought was about to happen wasn't but he couldn't guarantee that. He wasn't planning to kill the guy, he'd been given his orders, but this was the endgame and he couldn't let anything slip. If the agent thought for a second that he had one last chance then he would try something stupid and Alex would be forced to take him down. While Alex intended to try and keep any injuries non-fatal he wasn't ready to die in the attempt and he doubted that the other man would be so restrained.

"Doctor, why don't you help him?" _And find where he gets Samantha's stuff from so I can return it_

Alex didn't look at either of them as he spoke, his gun held loosely but pointedly at the man in the chair. Hazel-green eyes glared back at him defiantly from within the dark mask that covered most of the man's face and he didn't look away from them as the others left the room. Alex pulled a seat out on the opposite side of the table, laying the pistol within easy reach. He raised a challenging eyebrow at the agent, daring him to try for the gun. It was easier when it was just them, two professionals who understood how the game worked.

Alex pulled out the two forms and spread them before him. Picking up a heavy fountain pen from the heap on the table Alex began creating the lie that would dominate Fox's life. When he had finished he pushed the filled-in sheets of paper across the table along with the pen that he had used.

"Sign them," he ordered.

The man's eyes widened noticeably. Whether it was because of what he read or because he recognised the handwriting as being a good approximation of his own Alex wasn't sure. It didn't matter anyway. Alex knew what happened next.

The pen scratched over the paper, formalising the deal Alex was making with the devil. Without Samantha the agent would be suspected and without his memories he would be unable to defend himself when questioned. All that would be left as evidence of the night's events would be one missing girl, the holes in two memories and the signed statement that Samantha was the ideal subject for their project having reacted strongly to the now missing artefact. With their best hope against the aliens vanished there would be only one obvious suspect. Even if the Consortium found a way to ask the aliens if they were culpable, then denial would be both expected and disbelieved. It some ways it was the perfect method of sowing distrust between the supposed allies.

No one could stand against the aliens, and maybe it was the fact that he would survive both the alien's intervention and the subsequent Consortium investigation which would buy the agent his life. Or maybe they had been closer to legitimacy in those days and didn't try and kill their agents for one botched mission over which they had no control. But things could never be the same after something like that. It was the type of experience that broke men. Or at least their relationships with their families. Everything falling apart until, one day, the man whose house they were in would turn up at the door and demand a child in return for the one lost. Whether side effect of the interrogation or confused echoes of everything that had happened, the man would hand over the son who disturbed him so badly without a second thought.

In the way that all children do, Alex had blamed himself. Gun to the operative's head, Alex made him drink the retcon laced water and knew he had always been right to do so.

The retcon had done its work by the time Fox and the Doctor came back down with a stylish looking travel bag that Fox had almost certainly taken from his mother's room. Looking at the man sprawled across the table Fox paled.

"Don't worry," Alex told them both, "he's just asleep. Check if you want."

Fox threw a pleading glance up at the Doctor. Typical; Fox was already looking to someone else to confirm what Alex was telling him. Not that Alex could blame him in this case. The Doctor checked for a pulse and nodded confirmation of its existence but when he went to roll off the balaclava Alex stopped him. The Doctor looked at him quizzically but Alex just shook his head. Mulder had his search for the uncompromising facts; Alex much preferred the comfort of deniability.

"Doctor," he reminded, "can I have my ammunition back now? I assure you there is no risk of my accidentally shooting a comatose and retconned man in the head. Or anywhere else."

The Doctor pulled a face, "you knew," he accused, but he dropped the bullets, one at a time, into the palm that Alex held out.

Alex rolled his eyes but forbore from commenting as he shoved the handful of ammunition loosely into his jacket pocket. He weighed the second retcon pill in his other hand for a second. Fox's mind had been fucked with so many times, the least he could do was see if he could make the first time consensual. Turning, he looked the boy in his eyes and prepared to tell him the truth.

"Fox - we need to talk."


	14. Chilmark, Martha's Vineyard

Dumping the Consortium operative in his car on the outskirts of town had taken less time than Alex had feared. Having found a suitable spot and hidden a bicycle there while he had been out with Dan earlier that day probably helped. There was only so much you could do when on an island and Alex had to assume that there was a pre-planned bolt-hole waiting. As a finishing touch he reset the clock on the dashboard and the man's watch so that they appeared to have lost ten minutes. It was the little details that were important.

He returned to the TARDIS to be told that Samantha was asleep on the sofa in the lounge with the Doctor's second-favourite coat draped over her. Waiting for his and the Doctor's return after the excitement of the evening had evidently been soporifically boring, especially without anyone able to answer all the questions that she must have. The latter had been partially intentional. The coat was a nice touch; maybe the application of drool on the sleeve would remind him to put the thing away. For a self-professed genius, the Doctor seemed to forget that his coats weren't going to magically pick themselves up and put themselves away although, given what the TARDIS was capable of, Alex wasn't completely sure that given enough time it wouldn't find a way to do just that to them.

The others were doing things Alex didn't bother trying to understand under various panels in the main control area. Beyond enquiring about Samantha he hadn't disturbed them as he wandered through; everyone dealt with their first kidnapping in their own way. However having dropped his jacket off in his room and secured his gun - it didn't do to take chances with a child around - he headed back. It wasn't over until they had performed their vanishing act.

"So are we off then?" A fast getaway was traditional and Alex had got the impression that the Doctor didn't tend to hang around.

The Doctor said something that the TARDIS didn't translate and thumped the control board. A dull clang rang out, followed by a rather dismal whine of machinery starting up. Alex blinked as Mina pulled herself out from underneath her area of console, diagnostic tool in one hand and head covered by an orangey-brown hijab.

"I think that was 'nearly'," she caught his look, "bad hair day." She grinned. Alex didn't believe her for a moment but saw no need to say so. If it made her feel happier she could paint herself blue as far as he was concerned.

Dan looked over at her comment. "Careful, Mina. Your head's rusted under there."

Mina stuck her three middle fingers up at him in a parody of the boy scout salute. "Read between the lines," she called back before grabbing what Alex thought was a spanner and sliding back under.

Samantha, looking sleepy wandered in and stared at them both with wide eyes, and an expression that said she thought they were insane and hadn't quite worked out if it was the dangerous kind of insane yet.

"Don't worry," Alex reassured her.

The look she gave him wasn't much better.

"My dad didn't really send you, did he?"

She'd had time to think. That was always bad. Alex opened his mouth to lie once more but the Doctor beat him to it. "No, he didn't."

Samantha nodded as if she had expected nothing less. She turned away from Alex pointedly ignoring him, but that, like being lied to by him, was practically a family trait. She played with the end of one braid, winding it around her fingers.

"This is a spaceship, isn't it?"

The Doctor looked absurdly proud although, Alex had to acknowledge, he had some reason. "Do you like it?"

Samantha looked around with all the scorn of an eight year old. "It's all right, I suppose," she admitted grudgingly.

Alex took the opportunity to sidle across the TARDIS to where Mina was working. Samantha wasn't about to talk to him anyway.

"You okay?" Alex whispered when she re-emerged. It wasn't concern; it was just good management to check that your troops weren't falling apart on you. The last thing they needed was Mina to have a change of heart. At least while they were still in the vicinity of the crime.

She looked at him wide-eyed and unsure. He inclined his head towards hers but said nothing. It really was nothing to do with him, just that sudden changes of behaviour, or apparel, made him nervous. Alex wasn't sure what it was she saw in him, not compassion as he hadn't had any of that for years and what precious little tolerance he had was pretty much taken up by Mulder, but, whatever it was, Mina stood up carefully, putting the tool she had been using down on top of the panel.

"Fine," Mina glanced over to where the tall figure of the Doctor was bent almost in half and then back to the fascinating dullness of a spanner on a metal surface. "This isn't something we can solve, is it? She'll never see her family again because of us. I know we are doing the right thing. I just..."

She fiddled with the material at the neck of her headscarf.

"needed a connection?"

"It's stupid, really," She looked at him self-deprecatingly. "My mother hates it; we had so many arguments about my wearing it." Families. It was always about families. The ones you were born into or the ones you chose. "In the end I asked her why it was okay for her to lay down rules to say I couldn't wear something when she was so opposed to those who laid down rules to say I had to. She hugged me, told me she was proud of me and gave me this. Her mother bought it after the revolution before... she took it with her when she left Iran with her father." Alex wrapped his arms around her and let her nestle within the protective shell of his jacket. He told himself it was for her benefit but his own family was closer than they had been in years and her warmth, pressed against him, kept his ghosts at bay. "Only it hasn't happened yet, they're there somewhere, my mother and grandmother. They don't know what's going to happen to them." She sniffed. "The really stupid thing was, after she gave it to me, the argument just didn't seem as important any more."

And somewhere out there was a young Alex waiting for his father to come home. Action and consequence. How often did they swoop into a situation and leave before the repercussions were felt. Maybe it was the only way they could do it, save the day and skip the clean-up. It wasn't the decisions that were made in the heat of battle that were hard; it was picking up the pieces when it was all over and the dust had settled enough for the cost to be counted. Only Samantha was an undeniable result of what they had done. Whatever would have happened to her if they hadn't intervened, they had and the repercussions of that was now their responsibility.

He let Mina go slowly when she began to draw away. She looked up at him defiantly, daring him to make something of her moment of human vulnerability as if it made her something less. He ran his thumb along the edge of the material that cradled her face, a platonic caress from temple to chin, before placing a kiss on her forehead. Her eyes were large and dark, glistening with unshed tears. It was so easy to forget how young she was. Had she turned twenty? It was hard tell when travelling around eternity in a ship where the calendar changed from one second to the next. He remembered what it had been like at that age, how adult you felt and it was only when you looked back later you realised that you were just fooling yourself and learning to fool other people.

Her lips pursed and there was that moment of recognition between them that she was an attractive young woman (weren't they all in their own ways) and he was a man like any other and Alex wondered for a moment whether she found him attractive in return. He liked women; he liked women a lot. Women, men... he wasn't entirely convinced by Jack's stories about some of his more intimate alien encounters but otherwise he considered himself fairly open to experimentation as long as it was safe, sane and consensual... although some argument could be made about the safe and sane where Mulder was involved. Mina blinked and smiled at him a little cheekily and he smiled back. They were good; there would be no complications. She gave him another quick squeeze of a hug and returned to her work.

Alex looked across the room and saw that Dan was watching them, an expression of concern on his face. Alex smiled at him and Dan relaxed, looking fondly at where Mina's lower half stuck out from underneath the console. She would have had a go at them both for their patronising attitudes if she saw but with some technology to play with, and Alex hoped it wasn't connected to anything vital, they could have put on matching tutus and staged an impromptu performance of Swan Lake and she wouldn't have noticed. He hadn't been a big brother for so long he wasn't sure he could remember anything beyond the teasing and hair pulling. It was probably lucky he wasn't sticking around for long; he had got used to keeping his own company and Torchwood's idea of a work social was talking crap over take-away when some crisis or other had kept them late again or the occasional drink after a worse day than normal. Gwen had made noises about some kind of team bonding but against the united front of her colleagues' various antisocial habits she hadn't made much headway. Staying at the Embassy was enough like barracks that the close presence of other people hadn't bothered him, but even there almost all of his contact with them was professional. Dan spoke of brothers, sisters, cousins, second-cousins and grandparents, both adopted and blood, as if it was normal to have them all running around the same house. That was colony life apparently. Alex suspected he sometimes missed all the noise in the silence of space.

"Samantha?" Dan broke into her interrogation of the Doctor, taking advantage of a mutual pause for breath. "Would you like to see your room?"

She looked at him, head tilted to one side. Alex had to assume her conclusion was favourable as she nodded. As they walked off Alex could hear Samantha peppering Dan with questions beginning with whether he hurt his leg in the war. Apparently some things didn't change and the ability of children to find sudden reserves of energy at the most inconvenient time was one of them. Rather him than me, Alex thought to himself. Dan was one of those strange people who claimed to like children, although he'd still found Alex's automatic 'but I couldn't eat a whole one' response funny, so Alex figured he deserved everything he got. Especially if it gave him a way to work off any guilt he was feeling.

"All finished?" the Doctor asked brightly as Dan and Samantha vanished into the depths of the TARDIS.

"No," Mina began but the Doctor wasn't listening.

"Next stop: Washington. Again." He pulled one of the levers, seemingly at random; the column in the centre of the TARDIS began to pump and everything lurched.

Alex was beginning to suspect that the jerkiness was not an integral part of the TARDIS's operation so much as the Doctor's inability to fly his own ship.

The landing was marginally less turbulent than the first. It was like being on one of those runaway mine train rollercoaster rides where they deliberately made the car shake so that you thought that any moment the entire thing would come apart around you. Alex had loved those as a child. The rush of adrenaline and the tiny thrill of fear. The TARDIS was the ultimate ride and if you wanted you could touch down at a different station each time. Each journey a new ride with a new destination and a new thrill, without the need to queue in between. It had been... educational.

Looking out of the door Alex was pleased to see that they had actually managed to return to the same place they had left. He'd put his suit back on but the Doctor had let him keep the leathers. Who knew, maybe Mulder could dust off his official FBI jacket and there were cowboys aplenty in Washington. It gave him something to think about, now that he was back, rather than the immediacy of Nicholas' injuries.

"I hope your friend is all right," Samantha had said quietly when they had explained why they were dropping him off, and had clung to Dan's side. The plan seemed to be that she would go to live with Dan's family for a few years and then, if she wanted, the Doctor had a friend in Ealing who would take her in. Alex had just shaken his head quietly, not quite believing that Samantha might end up on a farm with a pony after all. She seemed nice enough but he wasn't sure how to deal with her and she appeared to have similar misgivings about him. He silently wished her a better life than her brother.

They'd all piled out of the TARDIS to say good bye, clustered around the doorway as if straying too far from the magic of the box would make some residue of his leaving rub off on them and require them to leave as well. Mina and Dan looked like they wanted to hug him but he stepped back before they could, giving them both nods. He hadn't expected it to be hard.

The Doctor walked a few steps with him, "You sure you don't want to come with us?" he asked. "You could, you know. Time travel and all. We can argue about you carrying weapons some more."

Alex thought about it. Travelling the universe, discovering its secrets; Mulder would have jumped at the chance. Part of him wanted to go; to see the marvels as well as the threats and tragedies. At least with the Doctor he would be facing general malevolence rather than people with a personal grudge against him. If he was honest, Alex had to acknowledge that there weren't too many places left on the earth, outside Cardiff, where that was true. And Cardiff was probably just a matter of time. The Doctor was offering him not only a chance to explore time and space, but a fresh start.

Alex looked back at Chandan and Yasmine, waiting with Samantha to hear his decision. They were nice, normal kids having an adventure and they wanted him to share it with them. The offer was genuine, Alex didn't doubt that, but, whether they realised it or not, they didn't just want him - they wanted his experience. Or at least what those experiences had made him. It wasn't about whether he went armed; his gun was just a piece of metal, he didn't need it when the world was full of weapons waiting to be picked up and no assassins with his name on their bullets waiting for him in every shadow. The problem was not the gun in his hand, it was the one in his head. Could he be more than the hired muscle? He'd never shied away from what he had become; a killer, an assassin, a liar, manipulator and spy. His only defence was that he never did anything lightly or for fun, never killed or double-crossed mindlessly or to satisfy some internal urge. He never enjoyed the thrill of it beyond the adrenaline rush of still being alive at the end. He did what was necessary and that was it. On the occasional melancholy night when he wondered whether Mulder was right about him, Alex suspected that everyone said that.

Whether it was true or not, whatever he had done, Alex had never worked with people who weren't just as dirty as he was, normally more so. Even when Nicholas acted to keep Mark clean it was the same, Mark was the target to be escorted and managed, while Nicholas' peers were back in London or around the world with guns in their metaphorical hands. That would change if Alex accepted the Doctor's offer. Alex understood why the Doctor would risk planets for his companions - they were his salvation and his soul. However they were also his damnation. He could give them the universe as a small part of himself, share in their wonder and enthusiasm, but then he would lose them. Even in the best case, the Doctor would be leaving them behind to a better life, whether they wanted it or not, rather than watching them die. By intention or serendipity, with Alex on the team there was not only more chance of the former, but there was more chance that the Doctor would be able to leave them with a clear conscience, as innocent as when he had plucked them from their disrupted lives. And Alex understood that the Doctor needed that as he needed Mulder and Jack needed his team, the pilot lights from which the main fire kept burning. But Alex wasn't innocent, and could never be again without downing Torchwood's entire supply of retcon. Travelling with the Doctor he would always be the sword, shield and knife in the dark, in his own mind if not in the Doctor's, because he would always see the need.

"You know why I have to say no, don't you?" Alex said quietly.

The Doctor nodded. Alex thought he looked sad but it was a little hard to tell. It would have been easier for both of them if what the Doctor had wanted was a soldier, then neither of them would have been disappointed by Alex's answer.

"You know where I am. You know where Jack is. If you need us..." Alex let the offer trail off. The Doctor's world just didn't work like that. The Doctor knew where, and when, Jack was. He had always known and yet Alex hadn't heard of him as more than a few cryptic comments about the medical profession until their accidental meeting. Alex had no reason to think that his presence would change anything. For all he knew the Doctor had hundreds of people scattered across time and space whom he could call on if he needed but who, while they waited, spent their time cleaning up the little messes in their small bits of the universe.

The Doctor smiled in that peculiar way that he had - as if he knew the secrets of the next moments but was willing to humour those slowed by normal constraints of time. In anyone else, Alex would be tempted to wipe the smug smirk off their face but there was no arrogance in the expression, just a weary acceptance. The Doctor lowered his chin in a half nod hiding his mobile mouth, and veiling his eyes behind the curtain of his lashes. With those expressive features hidden he looked like nothing more than the middle aged man he seemed, face lined by no more than the normal cares. It made it easier to walk away - Alex had been walking away from appeals to his better nature for most of his adult life. He turned and began to leave before stupidity made him change his mind. It wasn't everyday that someone offered you the universe. Behind him he could hear the sounds of the Doctor chivvying everyone back inside his impossible ship but he didn't turn. Turning would be one step closer to turning and running back.

"Oh and Alex," the Doctor called. Alex stopped and looked over his shoulder at where the other man's head and shoulders leant out from the doorway. "Tell Ianto not to worry."

With a last wave the door closed before Alex could ask why in particular Ianto would be worrying, and why he should stop.


	15. [REDACTED] Hospital, Washington

The hospital shouldn't have felt different but it did. Alex refused to believe he had changed, the world didn't work like that and he certainly didn't. It was just that his awareness had shifted slightly. The focus that he had felt while in the TARDIS was gone, leaving behind the reality he had left, a little more bleak in comparison, and with all the shit that he left behind waiting for him to face it again. Or in this case, them; Azzam and Mark's worried faces once more weighing on his mind now he had nothing to distract himself with.

"Don't move." The familiar voice sounded smugly behind him. "Well, if it isn't my least favourite rodent."

Alex rolled his eyes before he turned. Worrying about Nicholas was no excuse for letting someone get the drop on him, especially when that someone was Mulder. Twice in one week; it was getting embarrassing. It wasn't as if he hadn't expected Mulder to keep close tabs on him after George cut him loose. He would have been a little disappointed if Mulder hadn't cared enough, not to mention the opportunities that it provided him with. But there was a time and a place for their little dance and this was not it.

"Give it up, Mulder. I'm not in the mood," he said flatly.

The gun's muzzle glared at him unwaveringly although Mulder looked a little taken aback for a moment by Alex's blas manner. He recovered himself, stepping forward threateningly.

"That's a real shame," Mulder drawled, "because I am. And since I have the gun I think we'll go with my feelings in the matter."

This was just getting ridiculous. Not that Mulder was particularly good at following orders, but accosting him while the Deputy Director who had ordered him to back off was just a few floors away and in the aftermath of the attack on Azzam... it was practically career suicide. Alex began to feel slightly worried. Was this another Consortium-induced delusion?

"Don't be stupid." Alex refused to let his concerns show in his voice, "Now let me go, I've got to go check on..."

"I know," Mulder interrupted, dismissing him. "But you aren't getting away with it this time."

For a second Alex irrationally feared that Mulder somehow _knew_. Knew and was going to shoot him for kidnapping his sister. Then he realised what Mulder was really referring to.

"Getting away with what?" Did Mulder honestly think he was involved with the attack on Azzam? "Doing my job? Visiting a friend and colleague?"

"Another Consortium scum-sucker like you?"

Alex had Mulder pinned against the wall before he knew what he was doing. Whatever Mulder's problem with him, Nicholas was fighting for his life after defending a child against an unprovoked attack. Mulder stared at him in shock, hazel eyes wide, face pale and gun hanging, useless and forgotten, in his hand. Alex took it from him gently. The safety was on, which was a good sign. Alex took a deep breath, centring himself. Was a royal warrant for mayhem better than a republican one? It really wasn't Mulder's fault that he genuinely believed that the type of people that Alex worked with were as dirty as Alex was. Firstly it was basically true, and secondly, he wasn't entirely sure Nicholas or Jack wouldn't take it as a compliment.

"If you're going to kill me, do it now," Mulder gasped. "My expense reports have to be in for the end of the month."

Mulder's body was warm under his, solid and distracting. It was strange how someone could be both calming and arousing at the same time. Even the choreography of their violence had a beauty, a twisted symmetry that bound them even when they moved away from each other; his pathology and passion.

"Late again, Mulder?" Alex teased. "You needed to have them in yesterday."

Mulder frowned. "I don't know whose diary you're using, but the end of the month isn't until tomorrow."

"What?" Alex asked confused but not about to loosen his grip. He could see the calculation replace the confusion in Mulder's eyes and didn't trust it for a moment. He bounced Mulder off the wall gently, a reminder not to screw him around.

Mulder grinned at him, clearly pleased to have caught Alex out, "You been Phileas Fogging it too much or do they just not have calendars in the sewers?" he taunted.

He wasn't lying. Alex would have staked his life on it. One of them wasn't when he thought he was and... Alex was tempted to laugh aloud. He was early! The mad bastard and his blue box had dropped him off early! Apparently he needed to add another apology to the list of those he wasn't going to give Mulder. No wonder Mulder had been so insistent that he had seen Alex. He couldn't resist laying a firm kiss on Mulder's shocked face. Mulder gaped, doing a remarkable impression of one of his own goldfish. It wasn't Alex's favourite expression, because that one involved a great deal more excitement on both their parts, but there was a certain cuteness to it that made Alex want to pet him. He settled for cuffing him to the nearest radiator instead, dropping Mulder's gun, and his backup, just out of reach. Scully would find him soon enough and hopefully read him the riot act about wandering off after suspected assassins.

Alex smiled. "See you Mulder." Ignoring Mulder's curses he gave into the impulse and let himself whistle as he walked away 'If I could turn back time...'.


	16. [REDACTED], Washington

There was something hearteningly familiar about infiltrating a building and holding a fuming security guard captive. Alex considered reassuring the man that his intentions were good but, in his experience, such words were rather overshadowed by the presence of his gun so he didn't bother. The ski mask probably didn't help matters either. He had found himself impressed by the security set-up. While the individual businesses had been understandably reluctant to have cameras in their private areas the public areas from foyer to roof by way of the stairs and lifts were all a voyeur's wet dream of closed circuit feeds. He familiarised himself with the system while the guard obstinately confirmed that the restraints which Alex had used on him were completely secure. Satisfied that he had deleted any electronic trace of himself he settled back to watch the screens and amuse himself with the guard's futile attempts at resistance. It took his mind off how much the wool-blend made his nose itch.

The guard, whose name Alex hadn't bothered to check, had given up struggling by the time that the car carrying Nicholas and Azzam pulled into range of the cameras in the underground car park. He followed them as they walked from one monitor to the next. In another situation he would have smiled to watch the two of them, so different in so many ways but sharing a similar quietness as they walked. The glimmerings of hero-worship visible in the small ways that Azzam had begun to mimic Nicholas' movements and the little reaffirming looks up at Nicholas which he must have been aware of but pretended not to see. Instead Alex slid a glance towards the guard to check if his interest had been noticed. From the still horror in the guard's bearing it had and the obvious conclusions had been drawn. They both tracked the man and boy through the morning swirl of people: workers hurrying to their jobs, others procrastinating, small clumps amid the flow, as the excuse of social niceties or informal consultations kept them away from their desks for just that short while longer. Receptionists signed for packages from delivery couriers who looked at the drab uniformity with disdain and visitors filled out their credentials and waited for their escorts to take them away to every corner of the building. Alex searched the faces of each and every one, looking for ones that matched the photographs that George had shown him and Mark.

The interiors of the elevators showed in grainy black and white, the physical limitations necessitating cameras that were not as good as those in the rest of the building. Still, Alex was grateful they were there at all as Nicholas shepherded Azzam into the rightmost one, positioning himself between the boy and the motley collection of suits. Alex sucked in a breath as he automatically scanned the crowd; one of the attackers was there with them.

It was a tall building and from the flurry at the elevator buttons the journey would not be fast. From the camera's vantage point, Alex could see the suspect work his way nearer to Nicholas when the press of people allowed, occasionally to be pushed away by a new flow of entrants but steadily closing on them. This was it, Alex realised. The attack would either come in the elevator if the uncooperative morning rush allowed or it would come as they left, they and their assailant likely the only ones disembarking at their floor given the absence of other offices on it. There was no way he could reach the floor in time although a call to the psychologist's receptionist might produce a witness who would at least slow things down and complicate the issue.

Nicholas bent down and said something to Azzam. On the next floor they let the influx of people carry them away from the man and position them close to the door. What Nicholas had seen to arouse his suspicions Alex wasn't sure and didn't care because the game had just changed. The next stop gave them the opportunity Nicholas had apparently been planning for. They slipped out of the elevator just as the door was closing. Alex saw the man move for the 'door open' button but the weight of people held him back that moment too long.

"Well done," Alex whispered. The frustrated attacker had only been put off by one floor but it was a good start. Not knowing who he really was, Alex mentally dubbed him Bad Guy One. Alex tracked them both as Nicholas hurried Azzam towards the stairs, and presumably the exit, and Bad Guy One made it out of the elevator at the next stop and pulled out his phone.

Alex caught sight of the second man at the main entrance before Nicholas and Azzam had gone more than a floor and a half. Then the third, fourth and fifth men in quick succession, each by one of the emergency exits. So, that had been the backup plan, catch them on the way out. Bad Guy One moved confidently towards what appeared to be a random area of wall, hanging up as he did so. For a moment Alex wasn't sure what he was doing and then the fire alarm began to scream.

Alex dived under the desk taking advantage of the situation to make a cross-connection which would take down the surveillance feeds on the stairways and the back door as well as a few other minor systems. An electrical fault, common enough but hard to fix without a replacement for the blown part. Given the timing, Alex hoped that the problem would be linked to the alarm. There would be suspicions, naturally, about the convenience, but he could be fairly sure that if the investigation didn't put it down to bad luck they would pin it on one of the nameless attackers.

The triggered evacuation was definitely his cue. With the lack of children in the building, Azzam and Nicholas would be easy to spot but Nicholas was on guard and would see the trap just as easily. His best hope would be to try and lose himself and Azzam within the building, hoping to either get around the attackers or to wait them out until help arrived. Alex planned to tip the odds in Nicholas' favour.

He stood and smiled at the guard who shrank back as far as he was able. Everyone just assumed the worst of him. If Alex had cared about such things he might have felt hurt.

"I'm going to leave now, and you're going to call the police," he informed the man. The guard's eyes widened in surprise as he realised he wasn't facing his last few moments alive. And you are going to tell them what you saw, or at least most of it as I don't exist." He leaned closer, letting the muzzle of his gun stroke a cold line along the man's jaw. "And, as I don't exist, you won't see me again. You don't want to see me again, do you?"

The guard shook his head as if Alex had asked a question rather than made a statement of fact. On the screens behind them the building began to empty, people pouring from their desks, cubicles and offices and from these tributaries joining others in an unstoppable cascade until they finally pooled together in a roiling mass at the base of the structure.

"That's good," Alex encouraged. "Now I'm going to undo one set of cuffs and you are going to sit quiet. When I get to the door I'll throw you the key for the other set and you can unlock yourself. I'm afraid we have to do it that way just so you don't feel any temptation to try some pointless last minutes heroics, which will just result in you becoming dead, and me becoming irritated because I have to take the time to call the FBI rather than going and helping my friend make sure nothing happens to that little boy. Do we understand each other?"

The guard nodded, giving Alex the distinct impression that the man was really a puppet on a string but Alex still kept his gun trained on him while he undid the first restraint.

"You might want to get them to cancel the fire engines as well." True to his word he flipped the key to the guard as he left. It plopped cleanly onto the guard's lap.

To his surprise the guard called, "Good luck," after him. Just went to show you never could tell. Either that or Stockholm syndrome kicked in a lot sooner than Alex had been led to believe.

Putting the guard from his mind he concentrated on his job. Down was his first move. When Nicholas and Azzam failed to appear the gang would move it, blocking each staircase as they tried to run their quarry to ground.

There were times when Alex had to wonder who had thought stairs were such a good idea. At least down was quicker than up. Four floors down the fire alarm shut off and he could suddenly hear, below him, the sounds of footsteps and the rally of voices bouncing off the walls towards him. He hoped the security guard had the sense to stay put.

At least two men.

The sound of a door somewhere below and then silence.

Alex moved as swiftly as he dared, not wanting to give away his presence. He spotted the man who had been left on guard in the stairwell when he was three floors above him. As Alex crept closer he could see that the man was dividing his attention between the lower stairs and the door to the level, which suited Alex nicely. There was an art to sneaking in boots, but even that would only get Alex so close. Crouched down he eased his way to the landing half a floor above the guard. The guard rail was not totally opaque but it at least offered a little cover. If he wanted the man would be dead before he had had a chance to register the sound of a shot. He took his hand off the grip of his gun and reached for his knife instead.

He got half way down the final flight of stairs before something made the lookout turn. Alex jumped the last few feet, slamming into the startled figure before he could react. His hand wrapped around the man's throat, stifling any sound, while his other slashed at the lookout's gun wrist, severing the tendons. Blood surged as he opened the vein but it lacked the high power rhythm that would indicate that he had also severed the artery. For a second they hung in the moment, a stillborn scream distorting the guard's face, then the gun dropped with a clatter and unfroze them from their tableau. Alex smashed his elbow into the guard's chin, snapping his head sideways and knocking him out.

Bending down, Alex scooped up the dropped gun. He had no intention of leaving anything that could be traced back to him at the scene and that involved bullets from his weapon if he could possibly avoid it. It one of the bastards got shot with his friend's gun however, that was just bad fortune, incompetence or division in the ranks; however the detective felt like interpreting the evidence. All Alex had to do was remember to put the gun back where he found it.

He stepped fastidiously around the pool of blood that was spreading out from the slashed wrist. It was already becoming sluggish. As many failed suicides found, a single, horizontal cut, even a deep one, was not invariably fatal. With a lot of luck and physical therapy he might even get to use the hand again. More importantly to Alex, the blood loss combined with the blow would keep the guy out until backup arrived.

Alex eased open the door. The corridor beyond was the only place where the security cameras could still catch him. Alex quickly measured the distance between his door and the impressive glass portico emblazoned with the name 'Archangel Network'. It wasn't more than a few metres but it could have been a thousand miles. The dummy camera had done its job. The front was splattered with something viscous and the wires leading from it had been cut. Across the corridor the small hole where the real camera was located was little more than a crack in the plaster, lost amid the rest of the decor. Alex considered the angles; it would be a tricky throw and had all the subtlety of Owen on the pull but, in the circumstances, it was the best he could do. As quickly as he could he shrugged out of his leather and slipped the obviously borrowed suit jacket off the man he had downed. The man moaned slightly at the rough handling but did not wake up. Ignoring the bloody sleeve, Alex slipped the good one over his right arm. If something was going to appear on the camera then Alex wanted to it point to one of the attackers. Using the door to shield him as much as he could, he hefted the knife, flipped it over and launched it at the gap. The knife quivered in the plasterboard, blocking out part of the hallway from the view of the security system. As quickly as he could he manhandled the suit jacket back on its owner and let him flop back to the floor.

The door to Archangel opened easily, revealing a small reception area and behind it an open plan office with shoulder height partitions stretching out as far as the eye could see. He crouched by the reception desk, looking for any sign of movement and listening for the sounds of Nicholas' pursuit. A cry of "there" sent him running. A flurry of gunshots caused him to sprint faster, gun ready in case he literally ran into someone. He found Bad Guy One sprawled on the floor and staining a swathe of the dingy, faded-blue carpet to a rusty garnet. Of more interest was the dark smear on a cubicle wall across the way. A signpost in blood pointing his way forwards. He grabbed a nearby motivational poster and stuck it over the mark, hiding it.

Nicholas wouldn't stay in the area having been found. The question was where he would go. Making for the stairs was the obvious choice but Alex didn't think that made sense, Nicholas had to know that help was on the way and his best hope, injured, against an unknown number of assailants and with a child, was to hold out until relief arrived. Rather than heading in the direction of the nearest stairs, Alex headed deeper into the office.

Another body told him he was going in the correct direction. Whether this one was dead or not Alex didn't bother to stop and check but the angle of the neck suggested that it was the former. The body was slumped on the chair in a cubicle, head lolling back as if the occupant had just fallen asleep in his chair. Alex didn't envy the actual owner of the bay. Still, maybe the company was willing to spring for new furniture; even Torchwood covered full valet service on expenses in the event of deaths within employee's personal vehicles.

He continued on, the short carpet helping to silence his footfalls as he hurried forwards. He tried to think like Nicholas would, thankful for those long evenings which had given him an idea of the other man's tactics. The flicker of movement sent him diving for the floor before he realised it was a reflection in a window. Just a flash of yellow, there and then gone like the Cardiff sun behind the clouds. Nicholas. It had to be; none of the attackers had been blond.

The last three assailants were hidden somewhere within the maze of cubicles, and bearing down on Nicholas and Azzam. They weren't good but there were enough of them that they didn't have to be. Alex had spotted a few gang colours atop the badly fitting suits, possibly recruited local talent. He wondered what they had been told, or whether they had even bothered asking any questions beyond how much. Maybe if they had done they might have had a longer life expectancy. Backing up quickly, and away from where he knew Nicholas to be, he set about doing what he did best - confusing the issue.

When he judged he was far enough away Alex ducked into a cubicle. A small, furry, green creature watched him with its beaded eyes from the top of the monitor while stacks of books defied any clear desk policy in operation. With a mental apology to the cubicle's occupant Alex grabbed the creature. It looked vaguely like something from one of Torchwood's archives and flew like an un-aerodynamic, fuzzy brick. It did, however, hit the pot of pens and pencils in the opposite bay with a satisfying rattle and thud. Alex crouched down and waited to see who came to investigate. It was easy to grab the bastard as he went past. The hardest thing was not going for the quick neck snap but Alex wanted to leave a few alive to answer questions. It wasn't like they could identify him.

Moving on quickly he searched for his next target. Motion ahead and to his right caught his eye. One of the bad guys was trying to circle around to get a better angle for a shot. Pretty sure that Nicholas wouldn't be able to see him thanks to a support pillar, Alex stood up quickly, gave a low whistle and waved to the creeping bad guy before making an up gesture. Confused, the man straightened up and waved back, for about half a second which was how long it took Nicholas to put a bullet in him after his head and shoulders appeared over the partition wall.

'Idiot,' Alex thought to himself, dropping back down again.

By his count there was just one more of the weasels skulking around, not that Nicholas knew that, and 'defend' had definitely become 'seek and destroy'. Alex worked his way around the area, slipping from cubicle to cubicle and scurrying across the artificially created clearways as swiftly and as quietly as he could. He mentally promised his back a long soak in a hot bath the next day as he resolutely ignored the little spasms that running hunched over caused. Frequently he stopped, back against the inadequate partitions, to listen for any sound of life.

"Hey?" a low hissed voice sounded off to the side of the room, "Guys?"

Alex froze, waiting.

"Guys?" it came again, "Did you get them?"

Alex bit back the facetious desire to yell 'nearly, just you to go' just to see what would happen. The last one had obviously been left to guard a different door to the one through which Alex had entered and had got curious. He could see why they had left him behind. It was almost an anti-climax.

By pure, dumb, luck the schmuck wandered right down the aisle next to the cubicle where Nicholas and Azzam were holed up, calling quietly to his friends the entire way. If he had been one of Alex's men then Alex would have shot him himself out of shear embarrassment. This one was definitely local talent from the accent and green enough that he didn't even have his gun ready. Alex almost felt sorry for him as Nicholas kicked out at the man's legs as he went by, making him stumble, and sucker punched him before he worked out what had happened. Hand over the man's mouth, Nicholas painfully dragged the barely conscious body into their hiding place and out of sight.

That was it: game over.

He wished he dared check on Nicholas more closely. From the glimpse he had got, Nicholas' was in pretty bad shape despite the impressive display, paler than normal, maybe even a little shock-y, sweat dampening his hairline. He hadn't seen Azzam, but Alex had seen the blood on Nicholas' suit, mostly down one arm, an arm that Nicholas had stuck between the buttons of his suit jacket, using the garment as a makeshift sling. A lucky shot, or unlucky from their side's perspective, when he took Bad Guy One down. Even if it was just a scratch, and with that much blood loss Alex wasn't convinced, Nicholas must have been running on adrenaline and sheer bloody-mindedness. Even his suit breast was covered in blood and Alex just hoped that it was transference from his sleeve.

Alex looked at his watch. It was amazing to think that less than fifteen minutes had passed since he had left the security office. It was time for Alex to make himself scarce. Dropping the still cool gun by the still warm body on the way, Alex slipped out of the maintenance door as the first black and white screamed to a halt in front of the building.


	17. [REDACTED] Hospital, Washington

"Any news?" Alex asked as he walked into the waiting room and back into his life.

Mark shook his head. He had one arm around Azzam who rested quietly against him.

"I found coffee," Alex offered, "the good stuff. And the nearest this country gets to proper tea."

A smile flickered over Mark's face. "Thank you, Alex."

The worry was still there, tightening the lines around Mark's eyes. All of the hot drinks in the world couldn't take that away. Jack had occasionally dropped comments about waiting for the right doctor. Even having met Jack's 'right doctor', Alex hadn't understood before he found himself in a room of people all of whom were waiting for the right doctor to come through the door and give them the news. Alex gave Mark a small nod of understanding and reassurance as he pulled the tea from the selection and handed it over.

Kneeling down, Alex turned the tray around so a different cup faced outwards.

"I got you a chocolate milkshake," he confided to Azzam. "Don't tell my boss."

Azzam's eyes slid up to Mark, who was paying very careful attention to his tea and studiously ignoring what was going on in the vicinity of his breast pocket, and then back to him. Alex winked. Azzam smiled shyly, reaching out for the proffered cup. Alex brushed his hand over Azzam's hair as he stood, ruffling it slightly. Mark's eyes meeting his over Azzam's head were warm.

"You've calmed down," George muttered to him quietly as he passed one of the two remaining coffees over to her. "Do I need to check all the attackers we have in custody are still breathing?"

There was none of the anger that Alex would have expected to accompany a remark like that. He met her eyes deliberately and shook his head the barest amount, denying the accusation.

"It's amazing how relaxing a walk can be," Alex offered.

He dipped his hand into his suit pocket and fished out the various sachets he had secreted there.

"Apparently." She didn't believe him but she didn't push it either, just took a cream and sugar from his hand with a thanks.

He adulterated his own drink, not looking at it until he had done so. It wasn't as good as Ianto made but then if he ever found anywhere that was they would probably be raiding it for alien contraband rather than becoming repeat customers. The caffeine licked around his mouth like a lover welcoming him home.

Waiting in hospitals was time not measured in minutes or hours but in cups of tea and coffee. When everyone had finished he gathered the empties into the dustbin and the room lapsed once more into expectant silence, each withdrawing into their own thoughts as they didn't dare say any of the fears that they couldn't help having. Alex found himself running through the attack in his mind, wondering if there was something he should have done differently, whether he could have intervened sooner or waited so he could have got a better fix on where he would be most needed.

They all looked up as the door opened.

"Mr. Brydon?" the doctor asked, looking from one occupant of the room to the next.

Mark let the incorrect form of address slip, just nodding as he stood up.

"How is he?" It was indicative of how worried Mark was that he cut right past the pleasantries to the question that they all wanted to ask.

A quick check of his notes and the doctor smiled, "Mr. Brocklehurst was very lucky. The bullet hit his upper arm, hitting the bone and breaking it. He lost a fair amount of blood and will need some physical therapy because of the damage. There'll be a scar but otherwise he should be fine." The doctor chuckled. "If he's worried, tell him it'll be a hit with the ladies."

Mark smiled with relief. "Can we see him?"

"He's a little out of it at the moment." The doctor slowly became aware of the intense looks he was getting from around the room. "Normally we'd only allow immediate family..." he trailed off.

Apparently oblivious to the stand-off that was going on over his head, Azzam wandered over to the doctor and tugged on the sleeve of his scrubs, looking up at him with large dark eyes. "Can I see my Uncle Nicholas?" he asked quietly.

Alex caught the proud grin that Mark quickly hid behind his hand. The doctor looked from the solemn kid to the waiting adults and back.

"Your uncle?" he stammered.

Azzam nodded.

"Mr. Brocklehurst was hurt in an attack on Mr. Brydon's son," George explained po-faced, "I'm the FBI agent in charge in the case, Special Agent George Blake. I'll need to talk to you about the physical evidence that was removed from Mr. Brocklehurst. We can do that while Azzam is visiting his uncle, if you have time?"

The doctor looked around the forces massed against him and conceded defeat. "Well, since you're family, I suppose it's okay. Just go through those doors and tell the nurse I sent you through."

"Alex?" Mark looked over at him.

Alex appreciated the offer; he'd keep seeing Nicholas hurt and covered in blood until he saw for himself that the man was fine. But it wasn't his turn. He'd slip in later when visiting hours were over and Mark and Azzam were gone.

"I think the FBI has got the place sealed up tight; you guys should be safe enough," Alex demurred. "I'll be here just in case the Special Agent thinks up some questions for me."

Mark acknowledged Alex's diplomacy with a smile and nod of thanks before turning his attention to his son. Alex and George watched affectionately as Azzam put out his hand and Mark took it. Together they walked from the room.

"It's not evidence," Alex pointed out, aware George was smiling.

"Azzam needs to see someone in his life survive," George agreed. "Mark understands that. He's just doing what is best for Azzam."

The doctor looked at them in confusion. "What're you talking about?"

"Nothing," they said together.

George cleared her throat, becoming professional again. "Shall we, Doctor?" She indicated the door and, by implication, the chain of evidence waiting for her to become the next link.

Before either of them could reach it, the door opened.

"Oh, Deputy Director." Scully looked surprised. "We heard..." She caught sight of Krycek, clearly not in custody, and stalled.

"Agent Scully," George greeted her coolly, "I hadn't realised you had been assigned to this detail."

Scully flushed slightly but she rallied. "When we heard the news we volunteered. We thought we might be able to help."

'We' translated as 'Mulder', Alex wasn't sure he wanted to know what 'help' translated as although he had a fairly good idea. Wherever Scully had lost Mulder, it was too much to hope she had taken a lesson from him and cuffed Mulder to something solid. He was sure his favourite agent was doing his best to expand Alex's reputation.

"Very commendable," George said in a tone that strongly suggested that initiative was not necessarily a trait that was always desired in FBI agents. "I was just about to discuss the case with the doctor. I'm sure your medical expertise would be invaluable." Scully looked like she wanted to object but there was little she could say to a direct request from a superior, especially one whose investigation she was gatecrashing. George could clearly read the signs of mutiny and the way that Scully never quite took her eyes off Krycek. "Before we go, Krycek, a word..."

George inclined her head away from the others and Alex followed, curious. Mindful of the way that Scully and the doctor were following their every move closely, and in the case of the doctor with some impatience, George spoke quickly.

"You would've been a good agent," she said in a low voice, "It's a shame we never really had you, did we?"

Alex blinked. That was not what he had expected especially as he could hear the sincerity in George's tone. The idea of what it might have been like to be an actual FBI agent had never really occurred to him as it had never been a possibility.

"You know I can't answer that," he replied just as quietly.

"And if I asked you who you are working for now?" The pleasant expression never left George's face but there was iron under the velvet of her tone.

He could lie. He could always lie. And for all her strong words George was predisposed to believe that lie. He thought of Jack, offering him a place at Torchwood Three, of Mark trusting him to guard Azzam and Nicholas trusting him to guard Mark... another place, another time, he would have called them fools and used that foolishness against them. But time meant something different to him now.

"I couldn't answer." He had turned down the universe because he wanted to be something more than the knife in the dark. "But I could tell you that Nicholas knows exactly who it is."

George studied him for a long moment before she said, "Good enough for me." She looked past him to where Scully waited, "I don't think Agent Mulder will feel the same though. You know he's going to be all over you the minute I leave this room, don't you?"

"That seems likely," Alex agreed.

"You going to be all right?"

Alex laughed. "The day I can't deal with Mulder is the day..."

"...you die," George finished for him.

Alex looked at her seriously, not wanting to risk any misunderstanding. "I can tell you now, Special Agent Blake, that if that ever happens you won't place the gun in Mulder's hand."

Whatever happened to him, Mulder would probably be the cause but not the culprit. Mulder couldn't pull the trigger on him any more than he could on Mulder; it was just the way they were and no Consortium conditioning had been able to break that. Yet, anyway, and they had tried hard enough.

"If?" George repeated.

Alex gave her his best crooked grin.

"I've seen your record, Krycek," George told him sternly, none of her normal friendliness visible, "and I'm quite capable of reading between the lines." Alex let his face fall into his professional mask in return. "I don't know if you are out now or not, but pull anything that ends up on my radar... they wouldn't be able to place the gun in my hand either. But that wouldn't make either of us very happy, especially when, against my better judgement, I'm starting to like you. With that understood, do try not to bait Agent Mulder too much. He's one of my agents and he doesn't deserve the crap that he has been put through even if he can be an arrogant asshole. Are we clear?"

"As crystal, Special Agent Blake." Alex ground out, playing his part.

George sighed, "I do realise that he will probably make that very difficult for you. Let me give you my pre-emptive apologies for the behaviour of my agent."

"He has cause," Alex admitted softly. "Don't worry. I'll behave, and I'll make sure he doesn't do anything that you'll have to take official notice of."

"Thank you, Alex." George really was very pretty when she let herself relax, not that her strength wasn't an attractive quality regardless. It was a shame she had to spend so much time dealing with bastards like Nicholas and himself. Of course, if she didn't it would be someone much less capable.

"Keep me informed?" Alex asked. He would find out eventually but there was a certain novelty in being openly and officially given the information.

"As long as you promise to let us deal with it."

Alex didn't bother to dissemble, just nodded. It was an easy promise to make. As far as he knew Mark was quite happy to let the American justice system have them and if MI6 wanted to take matters into their own hands then they would send their own operative rather than outsourcing to him.

George raised her voice to a normal level as she turned to address the two people behind him. "Let's see what we have then. Doctor, Agent."

She shepherded them out of the door and Alex began to count. He got as far as twenty-seven.

"Vacationing on the side of light, Krycek," Mulder sneered as he entered.

Alex smiled at him, knowing it would annoy him more than anything else he could do. "Expanding into solvable cases, Mulder?" he asked lightly.

"You mean you aren't planning on stealing the evidence this time?" Mulder sauntered forward as he talked. "I'll make a note on my calendar."

Alex shrugged. "If anything happens to your evidence take it up with MI6; it's their man lying in the hospital."

Now that would be a conversation he would pay to hear. Mulder had gone to Oxford and MI6 recruited from there often enough; Alex amused himself with the idea of Mulder trying to get information from someone who had been at the same college and actually remembered him jumping into the Cherwell to celebrate the first of May or dressing up in drag for rag week rather than just having seen the pictures.

"And how exactly did that happen, Krycek? I thought you were supposed to be guarding their backs."

"Saved your ass on enough occasions, Mulder," Alex snapped back, 'and done a fair number of other things to it as well' he added mentally. "And I did my job this time as well. Ask around." Mulder was going to pay for that insinuation. "Not all my colleagues are scum-sucking Consortium bastards."

Mulder's eyes widened and then narrowed in recognition. He stepped forwards into Alex's personal space. Mulder was so easy and so much fun to wind up.

"I knew it was you, you lying piece of shit," Mulder hissed.

Alex put on his best 'congratulations, you caught me' smile. "And what do you think I lied about Mulder?"

"Don't you think it would save time if we just listed the things you told the truth about?" Mulder retreated behind the bland insouciance that seemed to annoy the crap out of both Skinner and Scully, Alex assumed under the misapprehension that Mulder wasn't taking things seriously.

"You don't want to spend time in my company?" Alex looked at Mulder through his eyelashes. "I'm hurt."

Mulder's hands fisted by his sides, the white ovals of his knuckles blistering his skin. "That can be arranged."

"Try it, Mulder," Alex warned, dropping the act. "See what happens. Or maybe you liked being handcuffed to the radiator?"

"I'm not here to cater to your little bondage fetish, Krycek." Mulder sounded less certain of that than he probably intended to. "Unless you want to hold out your wrists and let me take you down town."

It was tempting, but Mulder would probably try and actually do it.

"And here I thought my day was getting good," Alex leered facetiously.

"Three dead bodies and a shoot-out in a downtown office block is not my idea of a good day, Krycek," Mulder snapped, retreating from the innuendo into reliable and much less disconcerting anger.

"A terrorist attack on a kid is not mine."

They were so close that Alex could practically have stuck out his tongue and licked Mulder. The temptation was there to do just that. Who needed romance when you had heated testosterone and a convenient wall? Come on, Mulder, grab me, hit me, kiss me, fuck me... as long as you touch me it doesn't matter how.

"And you really think I'm going to buy you weren't involved?" Mulder scoffed.

_Scully's sister, not that I pulled the trigger._

_Your father. I shot him so you didn't have to, but you don't remember it like that, do you, not after they finished messing with your head. Yet you are so sure I was there even though you don't know why._

_Your sister. I left her alive but took your memories along with her. I started the lie your life became._

"How could I be?" Alex denied. "You were the one who made sure I was reassigned to the Ambassador rather than his son." Alex smiled, tempting. "Maybe I have a clone?"

"Mulder," Scully interrupted from the doorway before he could give his opinion of that possibility.

Mulder glared at her but allowed himself to be drawn away for a huddled confabulation Alex could see the irritation on Mulder's face as what he knew to be true and the facts were proved to be at odds. From the emphatic way that Scully was gesturing and the way Mulder was glaring at him, Alex guessed she was trying to get through to Mulder that he couldn't storm up to the British Ambassador and accuse him of lying about Alex's whereabouts. Especially not when there was a whole room of people who could corroborate Mark's statement and a Deputy Director on Alex's side. Alex kept his face solemn. If he provoked Mulder then all he could hope for would be a new set of bruises; drag things out and he could potentially use the mystery as a lure to get Mulder to come right to him. Preferably without Scully. While Alex had nothing against her, he didn't think she would be up for a threesome and her presence tended to put a damper on Mulder's ardour where Alex was concerned.

Alex gave Mulder a little wave of his fingers in a taunting goodbye as Scully pulled him away. Watching the pair of them depart, Alex started making plans.


	18. British Embassy, Washington

Nicholas seemed surprised as people stood up and clapped as he walked back into his office, plastered arm in a sling. Alex smiled to himself; the slightly bashful act was well done. It was easy to forget that there were two corpses in the FBI morgue with Nicholas's bullets in them and a few without. It was one of the things that made him a good embedded agent, Alex realised, the ability to play down what he was and what he did to the point were his colleagues just forgot.

Alex followed Nicholas into his office and Nicholas shut the door behind them. Alex couldn't help thinking abut the first time he had been in the room for his interview with Nicholas. The tensions that had permeated that meeting were gone and this time they sat easily with each other. He had passed whatever personal test Nicholas made of new acquaintances. And Nicholas had passed his in return, Alex realised. There was something about going into a fire-fight with, and for, someone that helped to clarify one's feelings about them. Maybe it wasn't much but, his loyalty to Torchwood aside, he would think twice before acting against Nicholas' interests. In the sneaky bastards' brotherhood that was practically commitment.

"Do we think they'll try again?" Alex asked, "or were the ringleaders among the attackers?"

Nicholas studied him carefully but Alex could not detect any suspicion in the gaze, just a restrained curiosity. It wasn't the reaction that Alex was expecting. A certain amount of satisfaction for having foiled the attack, concern over whether it was over, but not the close examination he was being subjected to. It made him want to fidget, although that was a temptation he had no intention of giving in to.

"I saw you there," Nicholas admitted, "during the attack. I recognised the way you moved. I don't know how you managed to be in two places at once." He held up a hand to stop Alex's denial. "And I am not going to ask. I just wanted to say... thank you."

How much Nicholas knew about Torchwood and Jack, Alex wasn't sure. Obviously enough to make some educated guesses and decide not to pry. Alex hoped he wouldn't expect him to be able to do it again but, equally, it was nice to get the credit.

Nicholas's face crinkled into a smile. "Although the biker outfit did make you look like an SAS Village People reject."

"And here I was aiming more for an extra for 'Nights in Black Leather'"

Nicholas' smile shifted to something more smoky and Alex couldn't help but match the expression. They both recognised the attraction as being to the danger as much as each other.

The intercom buzzed, startling them, and Nicholas picked the handset up. He listened for a moment before pressing the mute button and looking back to Alex.

"Call from Torchwood for you. You can take it in One."

Nicholas nodded towards the first of the secure rooms and Alex didn't need to be told twice. He could hear Nicholas instructing the operator to patch the call through as he left the room.

Expecting Jack, Alex was surprised when Ianto's face appeared on the screen.

"Ianto?"

Something wasn't right.

"Alex, you need to come back." Ianto looked strained and pale behind the professional mask.

Alex felt the leaden feeling in the pit of his stomach spread out through the rest of him. "What happened?"

Ianto opened and closed his mouth a few times as if the words wouldn't come. Alex wanted to believe that it was the quality of the video link that made his eyes seem red and the skin around them puffy. A trick of the light, just like the way that Ianto appeared to be carved from ice; beautiful, burning cold. No warmth or he would melt into nothing.

"Jack's dead," Ianto whispered, "and we don't think he's coming back this time."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Num...?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12660) by [Fides](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fides/pseuds/Fides)




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